A Capitol Experience
by Claratrix LeChatham
Summary: An average Hunger Games, as seen by the Capitol. The games have ended, but the victor's memories will last a lifetime. That lifetime, however, might end sooner than expected. Massive Mockingjay-compliant epilogue now updated. No spoilers.
1. District One, Paris

**This may be a super-long fanfic of epic proportions, or a few introductions. It widely depends on how much I get into the story. I won't be including author's notes in future chapters.**

**This fanfic will be like the audience experience for Capitol viewers. So, if you want a tribute to get a gift, you'll have to sponsor them. Please limit yourself. **

**(Don't send your favorite tribute a month's worth of imperishable food. **

**I will take the part of mentor, processing the gifts, though each tribute will have a mentor in the story. Please enjoy.**

**The time in the arena will begin in 24 chapters. ;)**

**--x**

Reaping day. Finally.

For the first time in weeks, I allowed myself the ease of laying back, melding into the comfort of my mattress. I deserved it. _Reaping day._

It was my right, really. District One will win, this year. The winner will be me. Paris Stetson. Daughter of the richest mine-owner. Trainee of a past victor, Decca Wilde. Expert with knives.

The best are the only ones who will survive in the arena. I am the best.

Blinking rapidly, I felt the light from my room's three windows spill over my face. Warm, but not uncomfortably so. In all fairness, not the nicest; though our marble floors, arched doorways, and all-around feel of grandeur are certainly among the district's highest measure of luxury, the home of the mayor is said to be wonderful.

Truly marvelous.

The homes at Victor's Village, though, are where I place my goals. When I come home from the games and complete the obligatory touring and speaking, I want to return to one of them. I am the best, but the simple fact is, the best is not good enough.

Better would be… better.

Sitting up, I felt my muscles tense. They were aching to be used, as they always were. It would be blissful, in the arena, where I could stretch, not worrying that I would kill someone on accident. It's not the killing that bothers me, though I suppose I'd rather let someone else take care of it, it's the accidental nature.

I'm a Stetson. Nothing happens to us by accident.

To ease my nature, and appease my nervous shoulders, I put one thin hand down, letting it rest on the table next to my bed. Feeling around, I clenched my fingers over the hilt of my favorite little dagger. The tension left my arm, and I flopped back onto my pillow, smiling.

How nice was it? Very. Lovely. My life was perfect. But it could always, _always_, be better. My smile turned to a grimace, and I felt my hand flash back to the small table, closing around the handle of a crystal bell, which I rang loudly. The noise reverberated off the stone walls.

Once I was certain that our avox had heard it, I laid it back, retracting my arm.

The air held a certain gelid tang, and I was grateful for the warmth of my body, preserved under layers of down. I hate the cold. Hate it with a passion.

A soft knock at the door alerted me to the present of our servant, who came as a gift from one of father's wealthy contacts in the Capitol. A gift, for services rendered.

She kept her face down, eyes averted, as her short, blonde hair hung around her visage. I couldn't see her; I didn't care.

In her hands lay a polished silver tray, furnished with a cut glass goblet of ice water, a plate of eggs, and a small pile of pulled-apart beef, a high protein diet which I have held to since my training began.

Hands shaking slightly, she handed the tray to me, though in the process, she looked up, hair parting to reveal watery blue eyes, displaying a nakedly terrified expression. She couldn't have been older than me.

I took the tray, and sent her off. She should have considered the consequences before she betrayed the Capitol.

Soon, it lay across my lap, empty. The snowy white bedclothes were clean, of course. My manners are wonderful.

Lightly, I deposited it on the empty table to the other side of my bed, before rolling over to my right, running my hand over my dagger for luck, and landing in a crouch on the heated floor.

Slowly, I straightened, moving to the borough, changing from my white angora night gown to a pale violet silk shirt. Before I could grab a black pinstriped skirt to complete the image, a girl caught my eye.

In the mirror. My image.

Absolutely mesmerizing. Even so early, I had to admit, I was mesmerizing. My hair, though it sorely needed to be brushed, was charcoal black and could be pin-straight, if it so desired. I had been growing it out for nearly two years, since Giorgio shaved my head while I slept, as a twisted joke.

My eyes were blue, and plenty nice to look at as well. I flashed a smile at myself, and finished dressing.

That girl was going to win. She was the best.

_I_ was the best.

* * *

My mother and father, Asteria and Quintrell, escorted me to the square, silently. We've never really talked much, since Giorgio left for the Capitol. They pretty much staked their hopes on him, in terms of having a victor in the family.

Hey, who am I to judge? They let me alone, training-wise, and all the choices that they made for him, I made for myself. Who cares if I can't lift 200 pounds in a sitting? Throwing knives is harder, and way more useful.

I left them to find a place in the crowd, and danced through the throng of people to find a place in the Seventeens. Gloss and Cashmere sat just a few rows away, in the Sixteens, but I didn't try to contact either of them.

It had already been made clear that _I_ was the one volunteering.

Next to a few people who looked familiar, I settle down to wait for our mayor's entrance. We watched in silence as he strode with purpose, shaking his full head of blonde hair. If you looked close enough, you could see a bit of grey around the edges, but our mayor gives off an air of youth, of vivacity.

Nothing gets past him.

The air was quiet, save for the sound of people breathing, as he began his somewhat repetitive speech on the treaty, the Capitol, and the Games in general. He closed it on a somewhat somber note.

"The Hunger Games are a time to celebrate the Capitol's forgiveness, and thank them for sparing our noble district. Be grateful for them."

He didn't need to remind me. The only thing left in my mind, though, was not thankfulness- merely a resolve to do better. And for that, I needed for the escort not to pick my name. So that I could volunteer.

I needed to win.

District One is the place of highest honor for any escort, and the irrepressible Elle Cobalt seemed to be enjoying the glory. Her predecessor had retired the previous year, leaving the position vacant, ready for her to fill.

Fill it she did, her spiky green hair staying mysteriously stationary as she danced up to the podium, her voice chirpy and excited.

"Happy Hunger Games! Enjoy the reaping!" she squeaked.

I couldn't help but envy her voice. It was as high as that of the youngest tribute, though she could have easily been my mother. Closing my eyes, I sighed deeply. I never wanted to get old.

She delivered a glowing smile, stepping up to the enormous glass bowl at the front of the stage.

"Without further delay," she trilled, "let's pick our lucky tributes! Girls go first!"

Biting my lip and closing my eyes, I silently hoped that it would not be me. Not me. Not me. Not me.

"_Tiffany Mercedes_!" she screeched, and my eyes snapped open as a girl towards the front walked shakily towards the stage.

With as much speed as I could muster, I leaped up, fairly screaming.

"I volunteer as the female tribute of District One!"

Okay, a bit formal, I guess, but before I knew it, I was up on stage beside Elle. She bounced on her heels with delight.

"Boys next!"

She flounced over to the next glass bowl, digging around eagerly.

"_Royce Emelin_!" she called over the crowd, the noise echoing through the speaker system.

It was all I could do to keep from snorting. _Emelin_? He sounded like an utter pushover.

No one seemed to be leaving the Thirteens or Fourteens, where I immediately cast my gaze. When I did look slowly back, I had to do a double take. The monster lumbering in from the Eighteens couldn't have a last name like that. No _way_. He was easily six feet tall, probably more, and cutting a wide swath of open space through the crowded square by swinging his massive arms.

Our tributes, the guys at least, are usually pretty big. He was huge.

Honestly, who would volunteer for him? When he did reach the stage, I edged away, if only minimally. I was scared. Not terrified, not cowering in fear, but he scared me.

Elle seemed to mirror my feelings her voice falling an octave.

"Well, let's… Welcome our tributes," she said, a vestige of her old spunk remaining, though she turned and whispered something to the mayor, "Err… Paris Stetson and Royce Emelin! Give it up for District One's Tributes!"

Beside me, Royce's face was a mask of utter joy, and I felt my own smile slide into a similar expression.

Because, scary or not, this boy and I were going to be stuck in the arena together within the month.

And, honestly? I couldn't be happier to have him on my side.

* * *

In all reality, he was bigger in person. Both of us refusing visitors, Royce and I were pressed together in a room that, compared with the rest of our Justice Building, was tiny. He was the sort of person who, just by sitting next to you, made you infinitely smaller in comparison.

The only weapon I had against him, in such confined quarters, was wit. Honestly, I was really just hoping he was stupid, or something. I like breathing, and someone like Royce? Even though he was smaller than some of the careers I'd seen from Two, he had sort of an air of power.

What really shocked me was that it was him that spoke first.

"We should be allies."

I nodded curtly, keeping my expression as smooth as I could. No weakness. I could _not_ show weakness. Weakness is akin to death.

"Paris, c'mon. You've got to tell me at least something about you. There's no way I'm parading around in a chariot wearing Capitol designed costumes with someone I don't know."

I smiled as slightly as I knew how.

"My father," I said, in what sounded like an icy drawl, "is Quintrell Stetson. I have been training for this for nearly a decade, now."

"Let me guess," he said, mirroring my strangely distorted voice, "you use knives."

Frowning, I let my composure slip.

"How can you tell?"

He smiled lopsidedly, half his teeth showing. It was hard not to recoil.

"You remind me of my sister. I'm more of a spear-thrower myself, but she's a wonder with a throwing knife."

"Better than me, would you say?" I asked, delicately raising an eyebrow, grateful that I could.

"I don't see any way you could top some of the things she's done," he replied.

"I'll just have to prove you wrong then," I said, standing up, my face returning to it's former mask, though I couldn't keep the smile from my voice.

"Let's make it a friendly wager then, eh?" he quipped, standing up to tower a good six inches above me.

From the door, I heard a Peacekeeper calling, and made for the door. He beat me, of course, twisting the silvery knob, and holding it open, as if he were a gentleman.

"After you, milady?" he asked sarcastically, his smile wider than ever.

"Don't mind if I do," I replied, taking his hand as we began the journey to the train, already connected.

Yes, interesting. Royce was interesting. Scary, too. Utterly terrifying, if he wanted to be.

But I kinda like interesting people.

**--x**

**Please note that this is a redone chapter. Royce's own will be next, followed by Kali, Soren, Lecia, and Vance. Thank you. :)**

**(This disclaimer stands for every chapter in this story)**

**I don't own any character, except for the tributes.**


	2. District One, Royce

**Thanks to my reviewers, and the people who sent me notes. You're all awesome.**

**--x**

When I opened my eyes, I felt a warm blast of air from the heater across my room. Not as fine as some, but still warm. It was dark outside. I had at least three hours to train before the reaping started.

I had only slept in my shorts, so I slid a thin shirt over my exposed chest, and picked my spear off the dresser. Pity I couldn't bring it into the arena. I was used to this one, and every spear has a different feel to it.

We have a training room underneath our house, where my sister and I spend hours a day. It's not fancy, just a bag suspended from the ceiling, some weights, and human-shaped targets on the wall. On each one, the painted red splotches that cause critical injury are worn out.

Nobody else is awake this early. Reaping day truly is a celebration in our family. My uncle Klash won when he and my mom were 14, so the Hunger Games are a main contributor to my family's status.

I've trained in this room since we moved here, when I was only three, so when I pick up my spear and aim, I'm able to keep casual. I know this place like I know myself. It's no surprise when my spear embeds itself a few inches from the target. I'm warming up.

My second throw connects just barely with the target's elbow. Not a fatal blow, but a hit. Better than a full miss, but my enemy would survive. And I can't have that.

After retrieving it, I aim again. This time, the throw feels right, and my spear solidly connects with the edge of the red, close to the heart. A near-perfect shot. If not an instant death for my enemy, a fatal wound that will become infected, eventually.

Every throw after that hits, though some better than others. Twice, I hit the middle of a red spot. Score. I try to imagine the target is a living person, and that makes it even easier. I am hunting now, and my spear fits my hand perfectly.

After nearly an hour, I stop to rest. A sheen of sweat all over my body is making it difficult to aim properly, so I pull our a towel from a small cupboard and dry myself off. I feel better, so I decide to try my sword again.

It's a frustrating weapon. My arm is built for throwing, not swinging, so the bag sustains very few injuries that are worth noting. I'll be looking for a spear at the cornucopia, no question. But it's important to understand the sword, so I keep going until I get a legitimate blow in, and the bag has several deep slashes. Almost another hour has passed.

I haven't even bothered to try archery. The tiny arrows require precise, exact aim, unlike my spear, which I can just level out and throw. Instead, I turn to a small throwing-knife. My sister favors them, but I feel like they're lost in my hand the second I grab one. I abandon the knife, and walk upstairs to eat some food.

My mom made omelets, with chunks of beef. I ate about twice as much as everyone else.

After I showered, and put on a navy blue shirt and some comfortable pants, my mom, dad, and sister all headed out to the square where the reaping is held.

I was ready.

* * *

The square was crowded. My little sister wished me good luck, before she and my parents disappeared. I don't think I'll need it. To get even more money (and more chances at entrance) I have a huge amount of tessarae. Mom gives most of it to the people next door, who lost both their son and daughter to the games.

Finding the Eighteens is quick enough. District One is not known for tall tributes, so I'm the biggest there. Good. If I'm picked, I'll be able to 'discourage' other tribute-hopefuls from taking my place.

I paid absolutely no attention to the speech the mayor is giving. Elle Cyan walked up shortly.

"Happy Hunger Games! Enjoy the reaping!" She chirped.

The perkiness was overwhelming. She must have been recently bumped up, because I haven't seen her before. Her teeth practically blinded the Twelves in the first row.

"Without delay, let's pick our lucky tributes!"

She had this horrible capital accent, and I wished I had my spear. I could shut her up. My ears wished they had hands, so they could cover themselves.

There's this huge fishbowl, and she walked in quick little steps over to it, and digs around, pulling out the name of the female tribute, who's a tiny girl from the Twelves. Another girl, this one form the Seventeens, volunteers. She strode up to the podium, grinning widely. My first competition. She looked fast enough to dodge a spear, and pretty muscular. Probably she'd been training, like me.

Elle walked to the second fishbowl, and dug around for a bit, before pulling out a name. _Royce Emelin_. It was mine. I made the journey to the podium, grinning just like the girl was.

I gave the tribute hopefuls a good glare, to let them know they were not to volunteer. Then I continued up to the stage, and shook hands with everybody to the applause of my district. My grin could've lit a bonfire.

* * *

I had refused visitors, and the Peacekeepers put me in a cramped room with the girl. She was staring stoically ahead. Neither of us made eye contact, though we were pressed uncomfortably together.

She was probably thinking of the best way to kill me. I decided to do the same. Through the corner of my eye, I see that she is very pale. She'll stick out a lot in whatever terrain we are put in though, because her hair is black. But she looks strong, and difficult to chase. Fast.

A good ally for a distraction, I realized. She could run in, and with the pale face, and dark hair, be spotted almost instantly. Fast enough to lead a few tributes on a merry chase while I pick them off with my spear.

"We should be allies."

She looked surprised for a second, then nodded and went back to staring at the wall. I still know nothing about her, not even her name.

"If we are going to be allies, I have to know your name," I chided.

"Paris Stetson," She replied. 'Paris' remained unfazed.

I leaned back into my seat. Yes, Paris and I were allies. I made a decent choice on my first. Ally, I mean. Now I just have to kill her. Shouldn't be too hard.

**--x**

**I'm sorry, but there will be several more careers before I start posting the **_**real**_** district kids.**

**You won't be able to send in gifts until the action starts.**


	3. District Two, Kali

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed! I'm writing these things two a day on weekends, so I should update within two days. Reviews will make me faster. ;D**

**--x**

The reaping is perfectly timed, here in District Two. People can sleep in, and have a leisurely breakfast.

This morning, I slept until nearly 8:30. My training schedule had been rigorous for the last month, so it was a total luxury. Even before I opened my eyes, my hand reached out to feel the hardwood staff I kept by my bed. It had been my companion since I began training when I could first walk.

I blinked swiftly, and then pulled myself up, alert. I worked with my trainer on quick awakenings, since they might be required in the arena. This one was nearly perfect. My head was a bit foggy, but when I stood up, it cleared.

My staff lay on the little table next to my bed, and I pulled it up, testing my reflexes. Also perfect. I barely could keep track of my hand.

Gripping the top tightly, I skipped out of my bed, landing lightly on the balls of my feet. Though I was still in my night clothes, I slipped on a heavy necklace before I left. I've always loved jewelry. Especially things that clash, but elegantly so.

The breakfast was bacon and fried eggs, which are my favorite. Guess I'll miss them in the arena, if I'm not too busy keeping my fellow tributes in line. My mind wandered tot the arena. What would it be like? Who would the male tribute be? I've been altered to suit any environment. Physically.

As I finished eating, I eyed my newly glossy brown skin. It would keep me from burning, if the arena was a desert, and give me a unique face to the people of the Capitol. I was proud of it. My mother was a good plastic surgeon. Living in the medical district had its perks.

We had about half an hour before we needed to leave for the city square. I was as nervous as one of the Twelves on their first reaping, but not scared. I was born with all fight, and no flight, as my cousin Frieda puts it. Always so scientific.

I spent the half hour showering, and picking out the clothes to wear, for my angle. Eventually, I decided on a fitted black shirt and jacket, with a grey beaded necklace, and similarly grey pants.

I couldn't help but grin; I, trained killer, predicted female tribute of District Two, was matching jewelry with pants. At least it would throw my opponents off.

The time to join the rest of District Two in the square came faster than I expected, but my ever-efficient mother herded me off on time.

Not that there would be any second today that was not my time.

* * *

Several of my fellow Sixteens saw the District One reaping live. I wanted to watch on the train to the Capitol, but I was glad to listen to them gossip about how big the male was, or what a classic tribute the female was.

I was anything but a classic tribute, I was sure. Luxe assured me that I was special. I believed her. We'd been friends for a long time. Several of my other friends chatted with me during the wait for the ceremony to begin, though most of them were the giggly type. If they were in the games, I'd kill them within a second.

A little later than expected, our mayor, Ceres, stepped up to the podium. She was the model of beauty, and a woman, so her high standing often surprised people from other districts. But she had won the Hunger Games once, so she was my idol.

She gave the obvious speech on Panem's history, The Dark Days, and the Treasonous Treaty, or something like that. Then she introduced our escort, who is new from District Four. First, however, she added one more thing.

"We must remember, the Hunger Games are a time of opportunity. Be thankful for them."

She shouldn't have worried. I already was.

The escort walked up to the microphone, looking insanely perky for a guy at least thirty years old. And what the hell was up with his hair? Was it changing color? Impractical. My skin only changed once, and that was good enough for me.

He cleared his throat, and with a voice that could have belonged to one of my more idiotic classmate, began his little two-line speech.

"This years Hunger Games will be better than ever! Enjoy them. Happy Hunger Games!"

I think they tell all the escorts to end their speeches that way. All three that we'd had were the same. Only a bit less perky.

"I know you're all excited, so let's start picking our tributes! Girls first!"

He walked toward the big fish bowel, and started to stir them around. Finally, he'd picked out a slip of paper. I didn't really care if it was me or not; I would volunteer if it wasn't. would

My name wasn't called. A slip of a thing from the Fourteens, _Merope Suhail_, was. When they called for volunteers, I raised my hand immediately, calling out that I wanted to. Simultaneously, Luxe did the same.

Luxe? No _way_ wouldthat bitch steal my place. I whirled around to find her narrowing her eyes smugly. I slapped her, hard across the face, then jammed my knee into her stomach. She crumpled to the ground.

"Excuse me?" I yelled to the audience, who was shocked, and the Mayor, who looked pleased. "There seems to have been a misunderstanding. I volunteered, so am I accepted?"

The Mayor called me up, and nodded at me, a hint of a smile across her face. She didn't win the Hunger Games with a hatred of violence. I took my place by her right, as the escort, 'Shane' as I had heard someone say, walked to the identical fish bowel for the boys. He reached in, and pulled out _Soren Kailash._

When I saw Soren leaving the Sixteens, just a year younger than me, I decided I liked him. He looked devious, and handsome enough to get sponsors just that way, though not as gorgeous a Finnick, last year's winner. And his name gets me too. My fellow god. Our names are linked, if only by coincidence.

I stared out at the crowd, and as he reaches the stage, I give the tribute hopefuls a look. They saw what happens if you interfere with my plans. No one volunteered. Good.

Together, we can win the games. And when it comes down to the two of us, I will kill him.

We are Soren and Kalika, god and goddess of war.

* * *

I refused visitors; I have said all I wanted to say to District Two. Soren had family, a brother, who comes to speak with him, and left briefly. I was alone, thinking. My family had a library, mostly of fighting techniques. But the one that was my favorite was the book of war myths from every country. I'm named after the Hindu goddess of death, Kalika. But I went by Kali, as did she. The Scandinavian myths portrayed Soren as the bringer of destruction.

We would destroy, and kill. And we would be great. I would let him join me in the last two, then kill him. Like Kali killed her husband, Shiva.

I will dance on his body.

**--x**

**As a point of interest, feel free to search 'Kali' on Wikipedia.**

**She kills her husband, and dances on his corpse. Ahh, Kalika. So much fun to write.**


	4. District Two, Soren

**Thanks to all who reviewed!**

**--x**

It was too early for anyone to have to wake up, but my alarm clock rang anyway. I extended my fist, and hit the little beast until it would not be ringing again any time soon. It hurt a bit, but pounding on the clock was incredibly satisfying.

By then I was awake, so I pulled myself out of bed, and yawned. Too. Early. Sure, it was reaping day, but wasn't that a time to sleep in?

Chandra knocked, loudly. Apparently, breakfast was ready. Whoop-de-do. It turned out to be boiled eggs and beef gravy, my favorite, but I barely had time to enjoy it. My mom sent me out to the garden, to pick vegetables.

All the time I spend out their, pulling up weed after weed, has contributed to my hair's slight color change. From a decent, pale brown to blonde. Of course, I hate it. People think I'm an idiot now, not hat I can really blame them, but it's before they get to know me. Thankfully, so much time in the sun toughened me up.

I took in a small woven basket of peppers and squash, all that's growing. When I got back into the house, mom nodded, and sent me upstairs to get dressed for the reaping. She planned on wearing something 'special'. I planned on wearing clothes.

She came in to 'check that what I was wearing would be appropriate, and ended up forcing me into a blue button down that 'brings out my eyes, and black pants. To hell with my eyes, I just wanted to be comfortable, in case I was chosen.

I've trained a bit, but I never really liked the instructors my mom hired. So I just fool around with my dad's old sword. Some of my friends had serious training obsessions, but I prefer to hang around the house, and date around a bit.

We had to leave sooner than I'd expected.

Time just can't stand to be on my side, for once, can it?

The square was still almost empty when we arrived. I had plenty of time to find a good seat with the Sixteens. The few people who were already in attendance were placing bets, muttering to each other, and generally ignoring me.

They wouldn't do that if I was a tribute. It would be okay, I guess. If there was a sword I could grab, and a decent girl from District Two. Maybe even like a vacation, from my mom. But I wouldn't volunteer.

Slowly, the square filled up. Several Sixteens jostled my, trying to get the best spot, but when I wan to, I have a really good death glare. That shut them up pretty quick.

Our mayor was definitely late, but no one ever tells her that. She won the Hunger games a few years back. Probably rips your throat out if you give her cold coffee.

She gave a speech about how awesome the Capitol is, and though most of the idiots around me where hanging on to every word, I leaned back in my seat. She gives the same speech every single year, then expects us to listen.

I'm pretty glad to have sat far back enough to be nondescript.

The escort is new this year, bumped up from District Four. The fish-faces. He really didn't look that... Special. Except for his hair, which seemed to change colors. Some Capitol fashion, or whatever. Made him look like even more of a moron than he most likely is.

Finally, the Mayor gestured at him to make his speech. It's always really short. This year was no exception.

"This year's Hunger Games will be better than ever! Enjoy them. Happy Hunger Games!"

Short, and definitely not sweet. But the action was finally beginning, and he crossed the stage to pick the girl's name.

_Merope Suhail_. A Fourteen.

Huh. Never heard of her. She shook like a leaf as she climbed up the steps to the stage, and I felt a bit bad for her. Stupid Capitol.

Luckily, when volunteers are called, these two Seventeens volunteer. But the dark one, she's pretty angry about it, and she all but kills the other girl with just two blows. I pitied whatever guy got stuck with her; she's not exactly the ideal girl to spend the rest of your life with.

The ugly-haired man goes to pick the male tribute's name. I'm sort of hoping it won't be me. I really don't want to get anywhere near the crazy Seventeen.

Well, luck may have favored 'Merope', but it sure as hell hates _Soren Kailash_. My name. I sigh, inwardly of coarse. I can tell that to show weakness to that Seventeen is to sign a death sentence.

Now I could only hope that someone would volunteer for me. Unlikely, by the look she's giving the crowd. The suggestion of volunteering is greeted with an unusual silence. For the males, we usually have tributes lining up around the stage. Just my luck.

I'm stuck with Psycho.

Usually, our district's tributes don't have visitors. I'm the exception; my brother comes to visit me. Only three minutes, but it's time I don't have to spend alone with Psycho. More valuable than gold.

A peacekeeper takes me to a little room in the justice building, where I see my brother for the first time in four years. Mom doesn't let him in the house anymore.

"Soren..." He tried to start. But he stopped himself, and sighed. He looked nervous. Very nervous.

"Don't get killed, little bro," he says, quietly.

The last time I saw him, I was twelve. I can't help but run over like a little kid, and hug him. We don't really talk, just sit there. I know if Psycho has her way, I'll never just sit with him again. She kind of reminds me of mom, and that makes her less terrifying. Though she's an opponent.

"Why don't you come by any more, Joseph?" I asked, though I knew the answer perfectly well.

"Mom won't let me. I was replaced, remember? Her big star was replaced by a volunteer. Who won."

We stop talking again. I feel like a kid, and I hate it.

A Peacekeeper tells us that time is up, and I have to walk away, trying not to be emotional. I have games to win, and a Psycho to kill.

Weakness is the last thing I need.

**--x**

**Soren was less of a Cato then I expected he'd be. But who knows what will happen to him in the Arena? Especially with Psycho... I mean, Kali. ;D**


	5. District Three, Lecia

**Tomorrow won't bring as many updates.**

**Thanks to all who reviewed, and thank you to all who will.**

**What do you think of my first non-career? Review and let me know.**

**--x**

I'd been awake since seven. After a meager breakfast of soggy tessera grain, I sat before the TV, watching the tributes be picked. They all looked deadly, seeing as I was only thirteen. Everything looked deadly.

The girl from 1, the commentator said, is 'Paris Stetson.' She was 17, and looked like a born Career. The boy was huge, and his name is 'Royce Emelin.' Paris laughed at first, but his size shut her up.

Perhaps the scariest was the girl from 2. She didn't look right in the head, and she knocked out the girl she had been chatting with only a few minutes ago. I think Soren, the boy, was a bit scared of her. But I can't be sure.

My district was next. I had four sisters, all of them younger than me. Eight tessarae, plus the twice my name was entered on its own. The odds are average for me, though I'm pretty much dead if I end up in the arena. And so are my sisters, without food. I made Lucas promise to take care of them if I become a tribute. They'll be safe, I tell myself. It's beyond my control.

The reaping was in less then ten minutes. I took Tiana, Colleen, Indy, and Jen out, herding them to the square. They were to wait with Lucas, who, at nineteen, is now too old for reapings.

It's time to go, and there's a nagging doubt in the back of my mind that I will not come back.

* * *

I joined a ragtag group of Thirteens. Everybody looked terrified, but the Twelves in the group in front of us look like flight risks. I hoped that none of them would try to blot. The Peacekeepers would kill them, at least.

Our mayor is a thin, balding, man, with dark skin and hair similar to the rest of the district. He seems almost as nervous as the rest of us. District Three has had a rough production year, and he's hoping to get a good tribute to bump up our standing with the Capitol.

The speech is forced. He talks about our great Capitol, but half-heartedly. When he speaks of the Treaty of Treason, he stutters uncomfortably. I hoped the Peacekeepers wouldn't punish him. The mayor was a nice man.

When he finished, he was sweating profusely. He gestured at our Escort, and sat down. This year is another new one, with dark skin like our old one. The Capitol seems to think that an Escort with skin like us will help gain our trust. It really doesn't help. I'm still suspicious of the newcomer, whose hair is so black, it seems to absorb the light from the air around it.

'Arwen' introduced herself, and began her short speech.

"I know your district has potential. So make theses Hunger Games the best ever!" She beamed, displaying unnaturally white teeth that interrupt her 'dark' look. I rolled my eyes. Yeah. She sure looks like a member of our community.

Her point across, she made her way to the fish bowel with the names of potential female tributes. Eight pieces of paper had my name. Not horrible odds.

She had these tiny, sharp nails that scrabbled on the bottom of the bowel. I could tell that almost everyone was holding their breath.

"Our lucky girl is... _Lecia Smithfeld_!"

Oh no. Oh no. Oh dear, mama, no. It's me. How could it be me? Only eight slips among thousands. I could feel myself shiver as I walked toward the podium, but I didn't care about my display of weakness.

There must be a mistake. I can't be a tribute. This is a dream. Useless, but comforting thoughts like these keep me calm. They distract me from the thought of being in an enclosed space with that tribute of questionable sanity.

Up on the podium, Arwen flashed another super-bright smile at me. I dazedly smiled back. At the moment, I'm imagining her in the arena in my place. Gross, but strangely comforting.

Arwen walked in short, clipped steps, to the bowl for the male tribute. One more to die, I thought bitterly. Hopefully before I do.

"_Vance Malloy_, congratulations! You are the male tribute of District Three!"

She doesn't even call for volunteers. Sickening, but it would be worse to _know_ that no one would take my place. I could faintly hear Colleen crying as I catch my first glimpse of the strangest tribute I have ever seen. He has red eyes, white hair, and his face is pale as a sheet. An albino. Our male tribute is an albino.

There is unmistakable resentment in his eyes, so I didn't meet his gaze. I preferred to look out at the sympathetic faces in the audience. We had no chance of winning, and they knew it. But they respect us, for sacrificing our lives for those of their children. A halfhearted applause builds.

I'm making someone happy. Perhaps I can get a sponsor who will send me something to make my death painless.

Maybe I won't be so lucky. All I have left are dreams.

* * *

I have to see my little sisters, and Lucas, before I go. Luckily the Peacekeepers weren't fazed by my lack of parents. They must have assumed that we had a spat over something.

All four of my visitors come in at once. All my little sisters immediately clung to me, and I hugged them close. Lucas stood awkwardly, eventually bending down to give me a one-armed hug. In my ear, he whispered a few words.

"Remember Wiress, Lecia. She won with her brain. So can you. I'll miss you."

He broke away, shifting his eyes downward.

"Thank you, Lucius," I said quietly. The little ones held me close, knowing this would be their last hug, before we met again beyond this world. I was already dead, and they held me close, knowing it.

Even the last of comforts has to end. A Peacekeeper escorts them all out. The last time I see my littlest sister, she is mouthing "I love you."

I love you, too.

**--x**

**Now won't it be sad to see little Lecia die?**

**She doesn't have much of a chance.**

***evil laugh***


	6. District Three, Vance

**Another chapter! Next time I'll do another career, so enjoy the relative innocence while you can. It's all you get for a while. C:**

**--x**

The Matron woke me up; it was time to watch the reaping for the other districts. No breakfast, the supplies weren't in. We all crowded around the TV, though all the other kids avoided me like they always do. I hoped they would get chosen.

All the tributes picked so far were classic careers, a huge District One boy, a lean but muscled District One girl, a devious District Two boy, and the most bloodthirsty creature I'd ever seen, also from District Two.

Kids around me 'ooh' at the District One boy, gasp at the District Two girl. I sit, emotionless, only registering their faces in my head. All of them were strong competitors. Our tributes stood no chance, again.

I heard gossip beginning to blossom, about the reaping, about the already selected tributes, about me. Obviously. There's not much else to do in an orphanage, than watch the games, and spread rumors about me.

Eventually it got difficult to tolerate. I climbed the old stairs up to my room, and carefully lay back on my pillow. I reached under it, and pulled out a knife. It's my favorite thing. I spent the time I'm supposed to be getting ready staring at it. So beautiful. It reflected every light in the room, flashing patterns on the wall.

Only my hunger distracts me. Perhaps being a tribute would not be so bad. I heard they feed the tributes well during training. That would be a nice change of pace.

I'm eventually called down. I flipped the knife under my pillow, and slowly walked back down to the ground floor. The Matron, and the rest of the kids, were all ready to go. I joined them, and we exited. I said a brief goodbye to the Orphanage, hoping I wouldn't have to come back.

* * *

Reaping day is not a celebration in District Three, though we act like it is. Otherwise the Capitol would intervene. Like they 'intervened' with District Thirteen.

Everyone was present in the large crowd. The Matron escorted those of us old enough to be reaped to the Thirteens, Fourteens, and Twelves. We abandoned children once they hit Fifteen. Some people looked forward to it.

I leaned back in my little chair near the back. We were later than we usually are, so I had no view of the stage whatsoever. I listened, and I could hear the Mayor walk up on the stage, and up to the podium. He touched the microphone, and it rattled a bit.

His voice was shaky as he gave the 'Capitol is awesome let's honor them 'cause they're awesome' speech, like every year. He also sounded nervous, which he does every year too. I could practically see him sweating.

Eventually, he introduced some Capitol idiot with a voice like one of the kids, when they accidentally bump me. She squeals a lot, and introduces the Hunger Games. I don't think she realized that she insulted us in her little speech, but I hate her anyway.

After a load of taking, I recognized the footsteps that mean she is going to pick out a name for our girl tribute. There's a load of ruffling, and she squeaks "_Lecia Smithfeld_!"

Poor girl. She had these tiny, light footsteps, like she's shaking. I guess she's scared. Someone who can't even properly step has a right to be, entered in the Hunger Games. Probably the Capitol lady blinded her with her teeth, if she's anything like our last one.

After they're done congratulating poor 'Lecia', Capitol lady goes to pick the boy tribute's name. Her steps are outrageously annoying, and I think of my little knife. It calms me down a lot.

She picked... _Vance Malloy_. He didn't come out right away, so I looked behind and in front of me.

He hasn't left for the podium because he is me. I was selected. Me. I paste a scowl across my features, though inside I'm trying to accept my fate. I'm dead. Already a corpse, before the games have even started.

I cut a wide swath through the crowd, who are fascinated and disgusted by me at the same time. They want to stop staring, but they can't.

It was then that I caught my first sight of the podium. The girl was average-sized, but very skinny. She looked terrified, and stared pleadingly out at the crowd. But no one helps her, or me. We're dead to them, too. They've already forgotten our names.

The Capitol woman is Arden. She gave me a glowing smile, though she looked like she would rather cut off her hand than touch me. I imagined setting her on fire. The thought cheered me up.

Trying to catch Lecia's eye is useless. She is in her own world, probably trying to forget that anyone is here. I'm doing the same, but not as well. She is like a statue.

A baby cried in the crowd. I imagined that she was crying for us. Perhaps she is the only one who will cry, when we are killed.

I wish I brought my knife.

* * *

The room I was sent to wait in was small, and dusty. Lecia had visitors, so I was left alone. No knife to keep me company. When the Matron went through my things, she'd probably sell it.

Maybe I could come back. Maybe if the terrain is ice, I'll be the only one who blends in. Maybe I'll bring a few tributes down with me, when I do go.

Or maybe I'll die. In the first few seconds. Maybe the Psycho from District Two will finish me before I have the chance to start. Maybe the Gamemakers will decide that I have no entertainment value, and arrange an accident.

Maybe I won't find a knife. Maybe I'll be killed by Fire, my best friend in the world.

Maybe. And in some cases, 'maybe' is as good as 'never'.

God knows, no one is going to want to ally with me. I might as well die fast, and save someone the trouble. Maybe Lecia will survive. Our district should know never to discount itself.

When she comes back to the room, her face is stained with tears. She is shaking.

I hope her death is easy.

**--x**

**Well, he's not as insane as Kali...**

**A side note- I've pictured District Three as being mainly descendants of African-Americans, probably living in what is now the East Coast.**

** I'm now a quarter of the way to the actual games! YAY! **


	7. District Four, Maren

**Hehe... She should throw those of you who hate careers off a little...**

**--x**

I was woken by the sea. My bedroom was built on the side of our house closest to the ocean, and I go to sleep every night, and wake up every morning to its music. I wanted to lie in bed a bit longer, but the gentle notes roused me.

Quickly, I skipped out of bed. My closet was close by, so I opened it, and pulled out my best net. It was spun steel, interwoven with nylon from District Eight. Heavy enough to build the right muscles every time I throw it. Versatile enough to catch fish, but easily cleanable.

After holding it for a bit, I stuck it back in the closet, on its rack. It would be there when I got back from the reaping.

My parents were in the living room, halfway through the District Three reaping. A skinny girl had just been chosen. Pfft. She wouldn't last a day without someone to help her. I hate reapings anyway, though I suppose it would be smart to watch the recap if I end up in the games. Average likelihood, I guess. Only seven slips have my name. It'll probably be some tiny kid with twelve tessarae picked, and someone might volunteer.

The reaping was boring to watch. The girl just shivered, and I headed over to the kitchen for some breakfast. Fried clams, like we've always had on the mornings of the reaping. They were delicious. I caught them just outside our house yesterday.

I ate slowly, savoring the golden batter, as I always do. Food is something I absolutely love. The one reason I don't volunteer for the Hunger Games. I see too many tributes starve.

Mom joined me eventually, though dad continued watching a feature on past Hunger Games. She ate a few clams too, then turned to me.

"Real nutcase from District Two. You could take her, though. Remember Finnick? We could get a good net sent in..."

I rolled my eyes. She has this fantasy about me in the Hunger Games, like her father. He won the second games ever, as she tells anyone we meet.

"You know why I don't volunteer. None of those Capitol cooks make fried clams as good as you do."

She smiled at the flattery, though I think she knew I wanted to get off the subject. I trained this year, at her insistence, and the instructor thought I could win. Her enthusiasm has reached fever pitch since then.

From the living room, my dad called us in. They were showing some old footage of Grandpa. Poor guy, he looks half-starved as he goes after the last other tribute, an Eighteen year old boy, with a spear. Eventually, there's an opening, and he jabs the spear through the boy's neck. It's pretty gross, but nothing like the hundreds of fish I kill every day. I'm pretty used to coughed-up blood, gasping, and flailing in the throes of death.

It was soon time to leave for the square. The program was over.

The Hunger Games were beginning.

* * *

In the square, which is already semi-full, I found a seat in the Sixteens quickly, and sat with Nerine. She has some gossip about the girl who was planning to volunteer. Her hip was broken in a boating accident.

What was she doing on a boat the day before the reaping? Insanity. I let Nerine know it. She agrees. I wondered if anyone wanted to volunteer this year, from the girls.

The mayor, a relatively young man in a suit, walked up to the podium. By then, the square was completely full. I was jostled a lot, and I kicked a few shins to keep my spot next to Nerine.

He gave his speech in a monotone, only pausing to breathe. The air was balmy, and I almost drifted off half way through, but I didn't. Peacekeepers hate it when you do that.

"And so, Panem's glorious Capitol rose out of the ashes of the rebellion..."

How long was he going to talk? He probably was criticized for the short speech he gave last year. Well, I sure liked that one better.

Eventually, FINALLY, the gasbag stopped talking. He gestures at this lady barely older than I am, and she took the stage. She dyed her hair blue. Blue. Hair. Nerine and I both giggled.

She had this chirpy little voice, like a bird being sat on, an she made the short speech that all escorts do.

"I just know that this will be another great year for District Four! We won the Hunger Games last year, and golly, we can do it again!"

Golly? What fresh hell is this?

She walked to a big fish bowel with hundreds of little slips of paper floating around in it, and she yanks out one from the top.

"The lucky female tribute is... _Maren Ericsson_!"

I nodded, and flashed a smile, before I walked up on stage. Her hair was practically glowing, and I couldn't look straight at it for more than a few seconds.

"You look so proud! I sure do hope no one volunteers for you. Does anyone present wish to take Maren's place?"

I waited smugly for Calypso to volunteer, but I remembered jarringly; She broke her hip! I suddenly felt very thankful to my mother for that training course.

"Then I guess you're in! We just have to pick the boy to stand beside you, and this will be all wrapped up!"

Lord, could she talk any more? She shut up for a few seconds to draw the boy's name. _Actassi Peixoto_.

The name is way too long for the Fifteen who stands up. He's crying... what the hell? Crying? At the reaping?

'Actassi' has darkly tanned skin like mine, and heavy black hair, similar to the creepy District Two girl I saw on TV.

It takes him several minutes to stop crying, even on stage. Blue-hair looks awkward.

"Happy... Hunger Games."

She disappears into the Justice Building, leaving me onstage with the weakling from my district, who will be my partner to the most dangerous game in all of Panem.

I may survive the next month, but let me tell you.

He's screwed.

* * *

In the Justice Building, my mom and dad came to visit me. Actassi went back to sniffling when I left the room.

I got a huge hug from both of them.

"We're so proud of you, Mar. You're going to win, we know it," said my mom.

My dad has more careful advice. "Stick with Districts One and Two, and anyone else who looks capable. If you are offered information from a District Six or Ten, take it. Those are the brainiest. You hear me? Stay alive," he said, gruffly.

I let two tears slide out as the Peacekeepers waved them out. They let in Nerine, who sat by me, and gave me a hug.

"If anyone but Calypso could win, it'd gonna be you, Maren. Stay on the District Two girl's good side. Don't get into fights. And mention my name to any cute guys."

She winked. I'm sure she's trying to keep me calm, but I'm a little stunned. I never expected to be picked.

Nerine has to leave too, and I go back to Actassi. I'd yell at the guy to stop blubbering, if I wasn't so close to tears myself.

**--x**

**We have to have a nice Career, right? She'll play her part well, and hopefully make it pretty far. Let's hope she finds some friends in the game who have some heart.**

**Wow! Over a third of the way to the games themselves.**


	8. District Four, Actassi

**Eight chapters done. Where am I getting this stuff? Thanks to everyone who reviewed. I'm working out a system for sponsorship that I think you'll all like. **

**By the way, two of the characters I've done so far are based on my friends. **

**Can you tell which? Just wondering. Brownie points if you can. :3**

**--x**

Like many of District Four, I awoke to the sound of the ocean. It beat relentlessly on the side of the tiny fishing pier by our house. Never mind gentle; the sea is cold and unforgiving.

We barely scraped out a life here, my parents and I. The house is cold, but when I walk out to the living room, I found them sprawled in front of the TV. I joined them, to watch the reapings, but my eyes glazed over past the first one. Why do we watch these?

Not much was said, though my parents would occasionally comment on a tribute's size, or lack thereof. I nodded along, to show I cared. They're all going to die anyway. It's of no matter to me.

I couldn't stand to watch any longer, so I walked outside to stand in the surf. Sea-birds soared overhead. Free, where the tributes could not be. They will live, as long as they find food. The little girl didn't have that choice.

The sand was a dull grey beneath my toes. Devoid of color, it made my small, pale feet look healthy in comparison. It's an art, by not being an art. The ugliest thing could land in it, and look beautiful. I wanted to take the television, and bury it. Not even the sand could do anything for the Hunger Games.

Mom called me inside. I need to eat before the reaping. Send me to my death on a full stomach. It's only fair.

What if I am chosen? I don't think of that. I see it as a release. From school, from the sea, from District Four, home of the diplomatic careers. At school, they asked us if we wanted to volunteer.

None of the boys are ready this year. Though Finnick won at 14, the district will not see any younger volunteers then 16, anymore. Technically, I'm not eligible. I had a feeling that Trafford had signed up for as many extra tessarae as he was allowed to, though he was only fourteen.

They all want a taste of the kind of fame Finnick received. Though the girls have a democratic way of picking their volunteer too, we haven't had a female victor in over a decade.

Bells rung in the square, signaling that the reaping would start soon. I found myself dashing through the dirt streets, onto the paved roads, trying to get there in time.

* * *

The reaping had almost started, when I tried to enter the square, and find the fifteens, 'casually'. More easily said then done, as I was out of breath and sweating profusely.

Tasino attempted to trip me, but I gave his outstretched leg a good kick. Emotions were running high. I could hear the mayor walking on stage, and begin his droning speech.

Leaning back in my chair, I could catch my breath a bit, which was very nice. Gradually, I resumed a normal heart rate and breathing pattern. The mayor's speech was strangely lulling, and I could feel myself drifting off.

I awoke with a start when I was punched in the shoulder from behind.

"Don't kick me," snarled Tasino. He'd just figured out that I did it? He's an idiot, and I let him know it. Only the fact that a blue-haired woman had taken the stage prevented him from carrying the fight farther.  
She gave a speech, so I assumed she must be the escort. What an annoying human being. Her voice gave me a headache, it was so shrill.

Finally, she stopped talking, and went to pick out the girl's name. She reached in to the large bowl, and pulled out the name. _Maren Ericsson_.

No.

_I'm lying on the dock, staring at the sky. It is grey, and the clouds roll like the waves. The horizon is merely an extension of the waves. No one is fishing today._

_I hear a noise, like footsteps, and I jump up, ready to bolt if I am accused of trespassing. Instead of an angry homeowner with a trident, there is a girl._

"_I saw you out here from my house. Wanna clam?"_

_She extends a basket of buttery golden strips, apparently asking me to take one. I do, and it's delicious. We sit down and watch the sky, eating clams in silence._

_A perfect day._

_She doesn't come again the next day, or the day after. I wonder where she is, but I never see her again._

The girl who took the stage looked different. Older, for one. Older than me, and stronger. She'd been training, like that girl, Calypso. But she still looked kind.

I couldn't help but wonder where she was, all those days. But maybe I'd learn more about her on the interviews. I hoped I won't have to watch her die.

My ruminations had to wait. Blue-hair was picking from the boy's bowl. I can hear the whispers around me, as my classmates debated over going against the instructor's wishes, and volunteering. None of them seemed to have the guts.

_Actassi Peixoto_.

So, I'm the tribute. But that won't stop Trafford from volunteering, right? As I got up, I turned to give him a look.

But instead of the eager grin I'm expecting, I'm met with a sneer.

"Have fun dying, Actassi," he said, smirking evilly.

My carefully staged smile evaporated, and I couldn't help it. All the emotions from my parents, and from him and Tasino pushing me around shows through. And then I imagine killing Maren, and I burst into tears.

Oh, he sees. So does all of Panem. But I can't stop crying as I walk up to the stage, joining Blue-hair and Maren. What does she think of me? Probably doesn't even remember.

The woman finished hurriedly, leaving us on stage, with me still crying. One of us has to die. Maybe both.

I feel like I want to die.

* * *

In the justice building, I finally rein in my emotions. It's been a long time since I last cried, and it's more difficult to stop then I remember. Maren has visitors, of course, but not even my parents come. I'm a no one.

Hopefully, I can think of some skill, maybe get a sponsor or two. Despite what I keep telling myself, I really don't want to die.

So what can I do? I've lived on the dock long enough to learn how to tie knots, but you don't get much opportunity for snares on the open sea. The people who fish are already good with spears, but I hate killing. I always leave that job to the boat owners.

I can lift about 70 pounds, so maybe a club? If I don't look too closely at what I'm killing, maybe I can live with one. Cave in a skull, and run. The Gamemakers would like the violence involved.

I guess I have a chance. Avoid Maren, bash in skulls, and hide wherever I find water. My chances are low.

I can't believe I'm actually considering playing the games the way they want me to. I guess it's different when you're in them. I've got nearly everything going against me.

But were the odds ever _really_ in my favor?

**--x**

**So, like him, hate him? I promise, he won't become a Peeta. Actassi is not the type.**

**I actually started to feel a bit bad for him, writing in his perspective, so he's less of a whiner than I planned. My characters sometimes take on a life of their own.**

**So review. You may need to, if you want to sponsor...**

***ominous music***


	9. District Five, Dell

**The first District Five tribute. In Katniss' year it was Foxface, but this year... Dell?**

**I can see it all now. A laptop wins the Hunger Games, narrowly defeating Toshiba.**

**I'm a strange, strange person.**

**--x**

It was nearly time for midday meal. I wiped the sweat from my brow with a heavy sleeve, and followed mom inside. Dad took a break from plowing to watch the reapings, so I took his place.

When I walk inside, just behind mom, he was on the floor in front of the TV. I didn't check to see what was going on; I didn't really care. All I wanted was to wash off for the reapings, and put something clean on.

The shower was icy cold, but I forced myself to stay in until I was clean. Relatively speaking, of course. In dirty, sweaty, District Five, you were never clean. Not completely.

Even as I got out, I could feel the haze of filth descending on me. I hate dirt. All from when I was a kid, and fell in a hole dug outside. It was huge, and deep. I stayed out there for a day, until they came to fill it in. Now I can't stand the stuff.

I pulled on the soft yellow dress I always wore on reapings. Mom used to wear it, she said. It's sort of a family tradition, a good luck charm. No one wearing it has ever been selected. I do need a little more luck.

At fourteen, with two tessarae, my name has been entered nine times. It's not the worst, but not the best. Bradley's entered over twenty times, so I don't have an excuse to mope.

The dress is on, and dad finally leaves the TV reapings. Lucky for him, he gets to see the real thing now.

What I don't want him to see, is his only child being sent to her death.

* * *

People in the square kicked up great clouds of dust, and I spend most of the walk trying not to breathe, The idea of inhaling this disgusting excuse for air makes me feel a bit green.

My family hurries through the crowd, into the heart of he square, where I am sent like the livestock our neighbors raise, into a roped of area with other fourteens. I resist the urge to moo. Don't want to annoy the Capitol already. God knows, if I am picked, I'll be dead without the Capitol's interference, and with it, I'm sure to make a bloody finish.

Our mayor is a fat old man, nearly as round as he is wide. He looks like he could teeter out of control at any second. I move to the front of the Fourteens to get a better look at him.

He jiggled, in a strange sort of way, when he took the podium. I was fully transfixed as his jowls moved back and forth while he spoke. I only caught snippets of the speech he was giving.

"Capitol." "Treaty." "Rebellion." "Games."

It was fun to try to pick out short sentences from the few words I caught. Like the Capitol giving us sugarcane sticks after the rebellion, and playing cows and farmers with us. I wish.

Finally, he moved on, to introduce our escort. Aida Fawker. She's a total bimbo, and goes of on some speech about the Capitol being great. I bet they don't have dirt in the Capitol. Someone cleans everything there. Being a victor would be nice, if I could just skip the games.

Aida goes to draw the girl's name. Hmm, _Dell Brandstone_.

Wait... Did she say Dell? That's my name! How did I get picked? I wasn't supposed to get picked!

I was sort of in a daze as I walked up on the stage with Aida. She had these sharp-looking pink shoes, so I avoided her feet. They could be painful.

She chirped like a bird, and her feet seemed to squeak as she walked to the second fish bowel. By that time, I was captivated by her glowing color. Even more saturated then the wildflowers in the meadow.

I hated to admit it, but she was pretty. And now, as she reached into the bowel of names, I hoped for a good companion.

"_Bond Goodman_!"

He was huge, that was for sure. Shaven head, and huge, HUGE biceps. An Eighteen. I was very glad to be from the same district as this giant. A petite girl like me wouldn't stand a chance in combat with him, even if I had trained. Which I hadn't.

He would be on my side, wouldn't he?  
No one could be so heartless as to abandon their district partner...

* * *

Bond isn't talking to me. I met with my parents, and they both just stoically hugged me, probably trying to keep me from hysterics. They succeed, and I sit with them in silence for three minutes.

They tell me they love me, and then leave. So I'm left with the brooding giant, who doesn't speak in more than one syllable. Ever. I'll attempt conversation, and he'll all but slap it away.

The slightly glazed look in his eyes speaks little for his intelligence, but they flash when the Peacekeepers bring us small salads. Particularly when he is holding that knife. I have a feeling that someone his size can wield pretty much anything, while I know next to nothing about weapons in general.

All I can do is wolf down the garden salad, and complement the Peacekeepers. They remind me that they didn't cook it, and I blush a bit. I check my reflection in the perfectly clean spoon, and I look better with some color to my cheeks.

For the rest of the afternoon, I am content to stare at the ceiling, and imagine living in a clean, big Capitol building.

Dreaming is a fine thing to do, but waking back up is difficult.

**--x**

**So? Like her? Hate her?**

**I purposefully made her a bit bland, but maybe you like blander characters.**

**I won't know unless you tell me!**


	10. District Five, Bond

**I had MAJOR writer's block for this chapter, which is admittedly my fault. I started trying to write the first part of the games, but it distracted me from my characters. I'll try and get them done fast, so I can move on to the action.**

**--x**

I woke up when I usually do, despite it being reaping day. The old rooster crows the same time every day, reaping or not. The air throughout the farm was still, and cool, as it drifted in through my half-open window.

A nice day, for my last reaping year. Soon, I would be another face in the sea of people crowding towards the stage.

The house was empty, with my father most likely out at the field, already. Hard worker, my father. I used to want to be like him. Back when I was young, and I thought that all I could be was a farmer.

Completely untrue. I could win the Hunger Games. After my sixth year, when I realized that, I stopped paying attention. No one was brave enough to point it out. By then, I was six feet tall.

I walked outside, to check on father. He was milking our cow. I would never do that. I take care of the big animals, the bulls.

Father is a man of very few words. He saw me, and finished milking, giving the cow a pat, and a few whispered words, before walking over to me.

"What is it you want, son?" He intoned.

"I'm hungry. And it's reaping day," I muttered. Though he is much smaller than me, father has a way of making me feel the size of a thimble. And twice as stupid.

He nods, and gestured at the door to the house. We walked in silence, and I sat at the little table while he put a kettle on the stove.

Soup was boiling, as we stared at each other, me faltering a bit under his gaze. He looked mildly sad.

"You're going into those games, aren't you." It was a fact. I was eighteen, and in the bottom of my stomach, I knew that I wanted my last chance at the glory. The houses in Victor's Village weren't full. I had even found my favorite, the third one on the right side of the street.

I nodded. Father is intuitive that way. Something about how spending your life with cows, you get to know people a little better.

"Think about it, boy. Those houses are empty for a reason."

No, I won't be volunteering. But if my name is picked, I won't be sad. It's time to head off to the square.

_Think about it_. My father's words echo through my mind.

_Well_, a snarky voice in the back of my head retorts, _You never were that good at thinking, were you, Bond?_

* * *

The square was packed, cramped, and dirty by the time father and I reached it. I headed over to the Eighteens, and he found a chair, leaned back, pulled his hat over his eyes, and fell asleep. I rolled my eyes, and sat down.

It really was crowded. Eventually, someone even sat next to me, which most people don't do. I'm about twice the size of anyone in attendance.

The mayor, who is probably the fattest man I've ever seen, somehow waddled on stage. He coughed for attention, and then started to speak about completely random stuff. What the hell is the Treaty of Trees-season? I was beginning to wish I'd paid some attention in class.

Whatever he meant, he seemed to know a lot about it. The airbag talked for nearly half an hour.

When he did stop, a cheerful woman with pale purple skin and fake-looking silver hair took the podium, and chattered about the Hunger Games. Yeah, yeah, get to the point!

She does, but much later than I would've liked.

"It's time to pick the lucky girl to represent District Five in the Hunger Games!"

Those little pink shoes skip off to the bowl, and she reaches in. The girl is going to be "_Dell Brandstone_!"

Dell is a Fourteen who walks up, looking stunned. She looks weathered by hard work, and tough, but very small for a Fourteen. I subconsciously discounted her as competition.

'Aida' smiles at her, and goes to pick another name, this one from the boys. I cross my fingers, and close my eyes...

"The boy to represent District Five will be _Bond Goodman_!"

YES! I had to stop myself from punching the air. I spare a glance at father, and his head is in his hands.

He'll get over it when I win.

* * *

Aida led us to a little room in the Justice Building. As I sat, the girl would occasionally sneak glances at me. I pretended not to notice. I have that effect on a lot of people, so I'm pretty used to it.

What surprises me is that my father doesn't visit. Not that I wanted him to, or anything, but I was expecting it. A quiet shake of the head, and a word of wisdom, something that he thought would 'carry me through.'

Has he given up on me? Is he already wondering if he should adopt a shelter kid? Maybe hiring someone to take care of the bulls...

I can't let it show next to a competitor, even a weak one. She might be cornered, and give all the information she knows. She is weak. Everyone is weak.

Everyone except me. I'm strong. Strong enough to win, and kill, and live in the third house on the right. Maybe I'm strong enough to get allies, sponsors, scores. Things that will determine my survival.

We eat a brief meal, awkward because of my foreboding presence, and the silence descending on the girl.

Aida tries to make conversation, but fails. The food is wonderful, but I barely taste it. There are so many 'buts' in my life now. If I win, they'll all disappear, right?

That's what the old victors say.

I can handle a sword, throw a knife, wield a spear, shoot a bow... I'm better than anyone else in the competition. Even the careers, who will obviously accept me into their little pact, before I kill them.

_Stay strong, Bond._

**--x**

**Poor Bond... He's got a massive flaw, which you'll find out about eventually. Can anybody guess it? And it's not that he can't use weapons, or his size...**

**I'm already started on the next chapter, which is a load of fun.**

**Vote in my poll for who you think will win!**


	11. District Six, Esther

**Another late chapter. Don't kill me!**

**--x**

I woke up on the couch, again. It had become a pattern after several weeks of watching past Hunger Games for three hours before allowing myself to drift off, usually in the same lounging position in front of the television.

If I am in the arena, a week from now, it will be worth it. I know what the Gamemakers think like. The patterns in what they do are difficult to read, but patterns nonetheless. The less violent the tributes are, the more likely the careers will lose their supplies in an 'accident'.

The more who survive the bloodbath, the less time before a natural disaster strikes. Simple.

Logic was never ignored in District Six, where we performed scientific research. The physical aspect of a problem, however, is commonly abandoned. Brains will get you through most problems, here.

We haven't had a winner in fifty years, which really shows how well that's working out for us. All logic, no clever.

My mom was already up, cooking eggs. They were a special treat for our family, usually reserved for reaping day.

According to one of dad's friends, who worked in a food research branch of the company, eggs have some special thing that makes you smarter. Of course, this is the man who spends all day staring through a microscope at what we eat. His advice is taken note of, but not close to the heart.

I sat at the little table, lost in thought. Mom brought a little plate of eggs, and sat beside me.

"Can you tell me what you learned last night?"

She smiled brightly, trying to keep my mind off whatever I had actually seen. The thoughts organize themselves in my head.

"I have a theory on the system the Gamemakers use to cause disasters."

Nodding, she gestured at me to continue. That's her parenting style; encouraging, then stepping back and letting me talk.

"Well, it's all to do with the amount of tributes killed at the Cornucopia..."

I explained the idea, and she liked it. Especially the analysis of the career stockpile destruction, which was the only time she interrupted.

"Fantastic! If you're in the games with them, you'll know what's coming, and they won't."

When I'm finished, my little sister Rhea walks out of her room, rubbing her eyes. She's not a morning person, and she idly picks at her eggs until mom tells her to cut it out and eat them.

Ever cheerful, mom decided it was time to wake dad up for some eggs. They're almost gone.

After a while, he lumbered into the room, looking very much like a large, disturbed bear. Rhea giggled, and I smiled.

It is reaping day, and this morning we all feel lucky.

* * *

The square is packed, but the people are speaking quietly. Besides the occasional underage child running about, we had a brief moment of serenity.

Rhea, mom, and dad were set to find seats, when dad pulled me aside.

"Esther, be careful. If you are chosen, remember whatever the hell you and your mother do, and for the love of god, don't volunteer. Rhea needs her sister."

I nodded, though I felt sure I wouldn't be picked. I had no tessarae, while I knew some people with more than four. Briefly, I hugged him, before stepping lightly through the crowd, towards the Fifteens.

Valery and Mathew saved me a spot, apparently. Kind of them. We sat in silence, though occasionally someone would try to push by.

After what seems like a huge amount of time, the mayor took the stage. I've heard the speech every reaping since my first birthday, so I tune out and stare at him. He's average sized, and balding.

His voice had a bit of a nasal tone to it, and halfway through the speech he began to cough loudly.

The escort, a young man with fluorescent yellow hair, walked up to lead him away. He smiled patronizingly, and finished the speech.

"The Capitol continued to provide for the districts, and with the Hunger Games, peace has prevailed ever since."

He ruffled through the cards the mayor had left, throwing several of them away. The mayor must have had a pretty boring speech, because the escort concluded with a much less wordy explanation of the Treaty of Treason, and introduced himself as 'Barry'.

"This year, the Hunger Games are going to be incredible. Have a good one!"

I crossed my fingers, and closed my eyes. _Pick someone I don't know..._ Barry reached into the girl tribute's jar. His fingers closed around a slip of paper.

"_Esther Jaffe_!"

Oh crap. That's me.

Even my brain failed me, as I walked towards the stage. There was no cognition of the moment. I was just walking, walking. Maybe I would be accepting an award? Nope.

"Congratulations! You are the female tribute of District Six!"

I floated around in a bit of a haze. Vaguely, I could see Barry picking a name out of the boys' bowl, and almost comprehended a red-headed Fourteen climbing on to the stage, and giving me a cold glare. But not really.

For countless months, I had prepared for this scenario. For every scenario. Now that it actually happened, I was grossly unprepared. It cast serious doubts to my ability in the other plans I had made for entering the games.

Who was I kidding, with those intricate plans and theories? The games were kill or be killed. There was no room for logic.

How could I imagine that I even had a chance?

* * *

My mind still blurred, I registered that the Peacekeepers were leading me away to the Justice Building. I complied.

They gestured me into a room with the angry redhead, and I didn't even try to make contact as I waited for visitors. We both had a few.

Valery and Mathew ran into the room, when the Peacekeeper opened the door. I stared ahead, still trying to comprehend.

"Oh, Esther, how did you get picked? Your chances were only... Umm..."

"1 in 1000," I answered numbly. How did I get picked? I felt like echoing. Why did I get picked? Karma?

"Well, be really careful," said Mathew. "The boy from five is a brute. The girl from two is just evil. But you can make it! I'm sure!"

Another person I'll let down when I'm killed. We all just sit together for the last time, before a Peacekeeper ushers them out, and leads my parents in.

"I'm so sorry!" I sobbed. By now, I couldn't keep my tears from spilling out. The last time I would ever see my parents.

My mom broke down in tears quickly. For all her encouragement, I don't think she ever expected me to get picked.

"Where's Rhea?" I managed to get out.

From the looks I get, she was too hysterical to come. Losing her, I guess I might be too.

As the Peacekeepers come back, and my parents leave for the last time, I wonder once more.

Who the hell was I kidding?

**--x**

**So? Like her, hate her, the only way I'll know is if you R-E-V-I-E-W!**

**Thanks!**


	12. District Six, Franz

**This one was hard to write. Franz is a pretty complicated guy, and he doesn't take well to being written carelessly any more than he likes Esther.**

**--x**

District Six is full of the genius-types, and I can't claim any exception. I read in the most recent census that we have the smallest population of any district, but combined, we probably have more brains combined than the District Ones.

Why don't we win? My sister didn't. She didn't even make it thirty seconds. An arrow in the back shot by the District One girl. I hadn't touched a bow since.

The worst part was the announcers. They groaned, and made horrible pouting faces as she fell, not even mentioning her name among the countless victims of the bloodbath.

She had a brother. She was going to get married, going to have children. Now every reaping day, I'm filled with something between fear and hatred. Fear of being picked, and killed like Matilda was, and loathing of the Capitol, who signed her death sentence.

I woke up the morning of the reaping after a dream, a haunting one that I had often. I watched Lace, the girl who killed my sister, smile at me and beckon that I should come closer.

Lace was dead. She would stay dead until the end of time. She had been killed by the boy from Four, Finnick. I almost wanted to be picked, to win, so that I could meet him, and thank him. He inspired me to prepare.

When I pulled myself up, the morning sun was already halfway to its zenith, and shining harshly in through my window. I wished we had blinds, like some of the richer families.

Dad was already up, making some sort of soup with goat milk and Tessera grain. He smiled when I walked in.

"You're up early, Franz."

I was. On reaping day, I rarely chose to get up before noon.

He extended another bowl of the stuff, and I took it, gingerly. As I sipped it awkwardly, I thought about what I had been doing during my walks back from school. Dad thought I had switched to a longer route, but I spent my time trying to bulk up a bit. If I ever was in the Hunger Games, I would make Matilda proud.

We ate quietly, as we always do. There isn't much for dad and me to talk about, except for sad things. I tried to avoid anything that could remind him of mom and Matilda.

The reaping was in less than 20 minutes.

Time to head to the slaughterhouse.

* * *

We were herded like livestock in District Five into the square, which, despite our small population, seemed full to the point of suffocation. Call me claustrophobic, but it really was packed.

I said a quick goodbye to my dad, and headed to the Fourteens. Several of the others jostled for the best seats, but I found a chair in the back, and affixed a glare to my face. What were they thinking, to be celebrating?

The mayor walked up to the stage, wheezing like he would come apart at the seams. He began his obvious speech about the Capitol, the rebellion, and the Treaty of Treason. Halfway through, he had to be led off the stage when he experienced an extreme coughing fit.

Our escort had the most horrifying yellow hair. He took the stage after the mayor left, and finished the speech. I'm pretty sure he skipped most of it, judging be the notecards he through carelessly over his shoulder, smiling broadly.

Barry. That was his name.

"This year, the Hunger Games are going to be incredible. Have a good one!"

He walked over to pick the girl's name from a large bowl. Who would it be..? I found myself craning my neck forward to catch sight of the 'winner'.

"_Esther Jaffe_!"

From behind me, I heard someone pushing through the crowd. It's a girl, obviously. For some reason, I found her familiar. She's as pale as anything, though a bit spotty, and she has slightly wild dark blonde hair.

But her features pulled my attention, and suddenly, I realized I how knew her. She had visited me in my sleep nearly every night for the last year.

She is Lace. At least, she looks hauntingly like her. The hair is not as perfect, and she is admittedly quite wobbly, whereas Lace was flawlessly coordinated.

Every fiber of my being screamed to kill her. Matilda's voice, weak from running to the Cornucopia, spoke her last words again.

"_But I have to go home!"_

_Lace smiles, and aims her arrow, striking directly between my big sister's shoulder blades. It flies in at an angle, and I can hear the air squeak out of the hole in her right lung. She topples, blood beginning to run out of the wound._

_And the laughter? I watch, stricken, knowing that the sound will haunt me as long as I can remember Matilda, which will be forever._

_The arrow is ripped out of her back, and Lace flips her over, to check if she had any supplies. Just her district token, a colored cotton bracelet we made together. Lace pulls it off, and ties her hair back with it._

_Then the cameras move on, and my sister is gone._

I'm abruptly pulled back to the present, where Esther is staring into the distance, and Barry is picking the boy's name.

"_Franz Desmond_!"

I couldn't keep the anger off my face, as I strode towards the stage. Esther was taller than me, by a few inches, but she didn't seem to notice anything going on around her. Faintly, she seemed scared.

I'd put her out of her misery quickly enough.

This one is for you, Matilda.

* * *

Dad came to visit me in the Justice Building, saving me from spending time with Esther. He looked lost.

"Are you okay?" I asked, knowing full well he wasn't.

"Don't leave," he pleaded, his eyes shining with the tears he refused to shed for mom and Matilda.

"I have to," I soberly responded, putting my arm around his shoulders. And then we were both crying, until the Peacekeepers came to tell us that our time was up, and I had to go back to the tiny room with the girl I hated.

How did Matilda stand it, the pain of saying goodbye?

She never did. The last time I saw her, she was dead. Matilda had refused visitors, and even her own family had to wait until her coffin arrived to give her our last goodbye.

And when we did, she didn't answer.

**--x**

**Love him? Hate him? You know what to do. ;D**

**The next chapter will be an intermission of sorts, an interview with two potential sponsors. Halfway through the intros! HUZZAH!**


	13. Capitol, Bell Voyeur

**This is definitely comic relief. The story is taking a turn for the depressing side, and I figure my readers deserve a bit of Capitol-bashing fun, while still relating to the story.**

**--x**

Bell shuffled her papers together, and sighed. Due to her recent voice alteration, it sounded a bit more like a squeak, but it was a sigh nonetheless.

It was like this every year. Halfway through the reaping, there was an hour of dead air. No reapings were going on, and all the anchors would scramble for some fluff story to keep residents from tuning out.

Well, Bell hadn't gotten this job by sleeping with the boss. Not that she hadn't; but it was her determination for a story, and irrepressible nature, that had gotten her promoted to chief Hunger Games anchor.

Now if she could just find a story...

The little phone on her desk rang loudly, and she scooped it up, flipping it to her ear.

"Hello, you've reached TGL News, this is chief anchor Bell Voyeur, how may I help you?"

"Hey, Bell!" The voice replied. "Have I got a story for you!"

Bell started paying attention immediately. A story? An exciting one, if she was to judge by the voice.

"Tell me more," she replied shrilly.

"There're these two down here, saying they already want to sponsor a tribute! Just halfway through!"

"Well, buzz 'em up, and I'll interview them!"

She was excited by the idea of the interview. The two would probably be up in under five minutes. Preparation was key... Se scribbled some questions to ask on a napkin, then transferred them to the standard heavy paper note cards.

There was a buzz, and the double doors to her studio whirred open. A young man and woman stood there, grinning.

Bell walked over to shake their hands, and they both had very cool palms.

"I'm Bell Voyeur, and I hear you're already planning to sponsor a tribute? That's wonderful!"

The woman nodded. "I'm Chante Ansley, and this is Jacksin. My idiot of a brother. Can you believe we're related?"

Bell was used to the sibling rivalry angle, and filed that idea away for use in the interview. She turned to Jacksin.

"You and your sister have really surprised us at TGL!"

"Well," he replied, "We've recently come into some money..."

"Save it for the interview!" chirped Bell. She felt like that cat with the big smile, in a book her mom had once read to her. A perfect interview concept!

Her camera crew had been setting up this whole time, and the head set man gave her the thumbs up. Time to enchant some viewers.

"Chante, Jacksin, will you please come with me? I'm sure Panem will just _love_ to hear about your decision!"

She ushered them into cream-colored suede chairs, and herself sat with her customary bolt-straight posture on a black leather sectional. Facing all of Panem, she began her usual halfway lines, and the camera panned in to make sure Chante and Jacksin were out of the take until they could be dramatically cut in.

"The Sixty-sixth reaping has been just wonderful so far! We've seen Paris Stetson, Royce Emelin, Kalika Hope, Soren Kailash, Lecia Smithfeld, Vance Malloy, Maren Ericsson, Actassi Peixoto, Dell Brandstone, Bond Goodman, Esther Jaffe, and Franz Desmond become tributes! Only one tribute can win, and we still have twelve to go!"

She winked saucily.

"But two people in this studio have already made up their minds. Meet Chante and Jacksin Ansley, two locals of the Capitol! Jackson, Chante, it's so nice to be here today!"

Chante grinned back at Bell, displaying pearly white teeth. It was rather unsettling for Bell, but she was sure the audience was eating it up.

"Bell, I am _so_ glad to finally get to meet you! It's great for us, too!"

She gave Jacksin a heavy kick in the shin.

"OW!" He cursed, and swung his leg for a bit. "Up till then, this was the perfect way to spend a reaping day, Bell!"

Everything was going perfectly. Bell turned to her note cards.

"Now, mind telling me who you're planning to sponsor?" Bell leaned in close, with a secretive (if fake) look, plastered across her face.

Jacksin grinned evilly. Classic television moment in 5... 4...

"To be quite honest, Bell, if I told you, I would have to kill you. Of course, beauty that you are, it would be quick, and painless."

Chante rolled her eyes, gesturing at a shocked Bell. Jacksin had been watching too many old Hunger Games.

"Jacksin, you idiot. Now how are we going to sponsor someone? All the mentors are going to think you're some sort of psycho."

"Kali's more of a psycho then me. And 'Hope'? That sounds like the last name of some creepy blonde stalker who sings outside of random windows in London!"

Bell finally began to recover. She pulled a few wisps of hair behind an ear, and interjected "Um... Who do you want to sponsor, _Chante_?"

Chante smiled reassuringly, and kicked her brother again. She was beginning to feel a bit bad for Bell.

"Well, I like Esther, and Kali has a lot of entertainment potential. Soren's name makes me think of owls," she answered.

Bell smiled thinly, though she was hoping the interview would continue on track. Another question; she flipped her old note card behind her.

"You don't seem to be very decisive for such an early choice! Let's say that your chosen tribute loses? What would you do?"

Jacksin stepped in to answer before Chante could. Unfortunately for Bell, who was entertaining nervous spasms whenever he came within a few feet of her.

"We have a backup plan, of course. As I was telling you earlier, we recently came into quite a bit of money."

There was a bit of a pause, before Bell began a new question.

"Will you sponsor another tribute, if yours dies?"

Chante answered quickly "Of course. Don't put all your eggs in one basket, or whatever."

The silence descended again. Bell was quite aware of how much the network executives would be laughing at her during the next meeting.

"Well, thank you both for talking to me! Happy Hunger Games!"

The camera panned out, played the Capitol fanfare, and went dead. Bell nearly fainted with relief.

Chante and Jacksin both stood up, and immediately began to giggle. Thank goodness the camera was off.

"Nice one, Jacksin," said Chante, giving him a quick high five.

"You really think so?" asked Jacksin, who was still grinning. His sister smirked.

"Nope."

Her small purple stiletto made contact with his shin, and she sauntered happily over to Bell, who was trying to collect herself.

"I'm sorry Jacksin is a moron, Bell. He'll pay."

She smiled wickedly. It seemed to be the pair's primary means of communication, smiling. Seeing that Bell was still rather shaken, Chante exited, dragging Jacksin behind her by the collar of his scruffy grey shirt.

Bell, bemused, watched them go, before treating herself to a cold drink of water. They were an odd pair, Chante with her fake bronze hair, and Jacksin as frayed around the edges as a District Twelve.

But they were sponsors, nonetheless.

_And goodness knows_, thought Bell, _sponsors are the most important players in the games._

However, she couldn't help but think that she would prefer to be in the games herself then to interview that pair again.

**--x**

**Ha. Well, the next chapter will be back to the tributes.**

**This was somewhat of a commercial break.**

**Thanks to Chante and Jacksin for letting me interview them!**


	14. District Seven, Glade

**I'm so sorry! I never seem to get my updates out on time nowadays. She was just as hard to write as Franz, but it was mostly because I'm not used to her perspective.**

**Hopefully my next update will be quicker!**

**-x**

I've never liked to admit it, but I'm pretty big. Maybe that was why I was having so much trouble getting out of bed? Nah. Mom and dad always say I'm perfect, and they're rich, so they're always right.

When I got out of bed, the floorboards creaked in the familiar damp spot. They always did that, because the roof had a little leak right above them. I got my balance back, and went to my closet.

Probably, I have the biggest closet in the district. My dad's the mayor, so we always have plenty left over to buy clothes. The only thing I'd ever wanted was a house in Victor's Village. They're so much prettier than ours.

I picked out a dress, and then put it back. Faintly, I remembered something special. Oh! It was reaping day. I switched it for my best dress, which was yellow. Yellow looks good with my hair.

Dad was already at work, so mom was in the kitchen, cooking toast and oatmeal for breakfast. I wished we had bacon. I really like bacon, but it's a special treat. Sometimes we have it on reaping day, and when Johanna won a few years back, we had it with eggs. That was really good.

I ate the oatmeal with mom, and she talked a bit about the reaping. She really didn't want me to go, but I was fifteen. I didn't have any tessarae. It would probably be some Eighteen with 20 brothers and sisters.

She said she liked my dress, which was nice of her. I liked it, too.

I finished my oatmeal, and went to watch an old Hunger Games. It was my least favorite one, where they starved the tributes to death in that frozen place. Maybe I would go in the Hunger Games, except for that one. It scared me a lot.

The reaping is after lunch in District Seven, so I watched the little recap of the reapings, and an interview with some Capitol people. They were really funny, especially the boy. Bell usually does the best interviews, but it got really out of hand.

Mom came in to ask why I was laughing, and she thought it was funny, too. We both like Bell a lot.

The time before the reaping went by really fast, and we had to stop watching and walk to the square.

I was so excited! Maybe this would be the year...

There were a ton of wood shavings on the road, like there always are, and I felt dirty by the time mom and I were at the square. All the people around me _looked_ dirty, and that really didn't help.

I know it's a day off, but couldn't they go to the trouble of using it to wash up? I guess not. I don't really know any of them, so I couldn't ask.

My mom gave me a hug, and told me to go to the Fifteens, so I did. She blew me a kiss, and I smiled and went to sit down. Everyone moved away, even though I was smiling. I guess they were in-timid-dated.

It was only a bit before my dad came on the stage and started talking. He said some stuff about the Treaty of Treason, and talked a lot about the Capitol, like every year. They're really good to us, and they give us food and protect us from the things in the big woods that eat us.

Dad kept talking, and a lot of the people around me looked kind of bored, but they only have to do this once a year. They should be grateful that we do so much to keep them safe.

We listened for a bit longer, and then the speech was over. Dad let Kaylee, the escort, come up to the stage. She talked a lot too, but not as much.

"Everything is going to be great! This year, District Seven will win the Hunger Games!"

All of the people in the square looked a bit stunned, except for a few who clapped. She looked happy.

Kalee went to pick the girl's name, and I listened really close.

"_Glade Acacia_!"

At first, I didn't know what to think. My dad looked really scared, but Kaylee still looked happy. And she's from the Capitol, right? I walked up, and I tried to smile like her, which made her smile even bigger.

It was hard to keep up.

She reached into the boys' bowl when I got up, and she pulled out "_Arvid Chaney!_"

A little boy who looked really scared walked out of the Twelves, shaking. It looked like he wouldn't live for the first minute.

All of the sudden, there was a little voice from the Twelves, again.

"I volunteer as the tribute for District Seven!"

There was a little gasp in the crowd as a boy who looked almost the same as Arvid walked out, looking very set in what he was doing. Arvid started to cry.

"Carden, no!"

The other boy, Carden, shook his head, and walked up the steps to stand next to me. He wasn't showing it, but he looked scared too.

I felt bad for him. Kids as small as he was don't make it far in the games.

But then again, I realized, I'm in the games too.

_Isn't that the goal?_

Mom and dad came to visit me together. They were both crying. I was just glad to be out of the tiny room with Carden, but I wondered what was making them so sad.

"Glade, honey... Please come home. You're as good as anyone in this district, okay? You can do it," dad said through his tears.

I guess my mom was too busy crying, but she couldn't really do anything but hug me. I hugged her, too.

The peacekeepers came to make them leave, but my dad made them let him stay longer. They said okay, but mom had to leave.

He just sort of hugged me, and said I was his princess, and that I would be okay. I wish he had given me some sort of advice, but he didn't. And finally, he had to leave too.

My dad was gone, and I had to go back to an empty room. Carden was still having visitors.

For the first time in my life, I didn't feel so special.

**-x**

**So? Like her, hate her?**

**Review, and let me know!**


	15. District Seven, Carden

**Finally! Another chapter! I've been busier than usual, sorry for the slow updates.**

**--x**

Arvid was awake before I was, of course. He's the early riser in our family. However, I don't know why he went to the trouble. Reaping day. My first reaping day.

I was on the floor, where I always sleep, and Arvid's spot was still warm. He was up later than usual, I approximated. Poor guy, he always had a few issues with keeping still. We can't pay for a doctor, so he bounces around like a maniac all the time.

Perhaps some people could afford to sleep in on a day like today, but I certainly couldn't. Arvid can't cook for anything, and mom and dad would be sore from cutting wood all day yesterday.

I had to get up eventually, so I did, but with a bit of muttering. That early in the morning, I've never really been myself.

There was a bit of grain, and a few berries in the cupboard, along with the last of the honey. Enough for a decent breakfast, but nothing fancy.

When I put the pot on the hearth to boil, I was careful that it didn't boil into the ashes. I'm not exactly the best cook, so I have to keep an eye on anything I do. Arvid realized that I was up, and hopped over.

"Hey Carden! Hey! Guess what? It's reaping day!"

He smiled.

I motioned at the water in the pot.

"Not right now, Arvid. But could you get me some of the grain?"

Arvid hopped off, leaving me by the pot. My brother's not stupid, but there is something wrong with him. The apothecary man thought he was possessed by demons, though I don't really understand why.

The water was just about boiling when he came back, with the little pot of wheat. He handed it to me, and I scooped it in. Luckily we'd start getting our tessarae soon.

Finally, I splashed the berries in, and added some honey. I spooned the stuff out into some wooden bowls, and stuck two on the table. I took one, and I gave the last to Arvid.

We both ate quickly, me because I was hungry, and Arvid because he wanted to talk about the reaping. He was confident he wouldn't be chosen. We're both twelve, only ten months apart, but he's the oldest. We've only got two tessarae each, so that only amounts to three names in a bowl with thousands. It's more likely someone with a lot of bothers and sisters will get picked.

I felt a bit bad for thinking of that. It would be worse if someone older with siblings was picked. All the kids would starve. Still...

By the time mom and dad were up, the soupy grain was cooled quite a bit. They were still groggy, though, and didn't seem to mind.

Even Arvid was smart enough to keep away from them this early into their day. They don't like to be rushed. We left the house to give them some space, and sat in the woods for a bit.

I like to look at the trees, and feel the bark. It's different for each of them, but once you understand, trees hide very little. A tiny berry bush might look poisonous, but the shape of the leaves will tell you whether or not it is safe to eat.

District Seven is lucky, I suppose. The fence extends to include the woods, but only a little slice. We're supposed to 'get to know the woods'.

We both waited in there a while, and Arvid tried to climb a tree. He's completely hopeless at it, but I kept my thoughts to myself. Unfortunately, it was, in fact, reaping day, and our time was cut short by our imminent deaths.

Pity, that.

* * *

Thank goodness, we didn't meet anyone on the way to the square. When Arvid starts talking, he has a lot of trouble stopping, and we were late enough already.

The crowd in the square pushed us towards the stage. Luckily, we're both in the Twelves, so we were moving in the right direction. A fat, balding man was behind the podium.

Mayor Acacia. I'd never seen him so close.

He started talking, about the Treaty of Treason. Basically, he was repeating what every school-age kid in Panem knows.

There was starving and war, and rebellion. Then the Capitol came and fixed everything up. Only a bit more elaboration and you have Mayor Acacia's speech.

Our escort took the podium after him, and chirped about the Hunger Games a bit more. Not quite as much as the mayor, though. Otherwise no one in the audience would have ears left over.

Finally, she got to the point, and went to pick the girl tribute's name. Her long nails scratched unpleasantly on the edges of the glass bowl.

"_Glade Acacia_!" is called.

There was a bit of a gasp; it was the mayor's daughter. She's pretty round too, but nowhere near her father's girth. He looked noticeably upset, but I was just happy it wasn't a tiny little girl, like last year's, Silvia Culley.

Then it was the boys' turn. I crossed my fingers, silently praying that no one I knew would be chosen.

I heard her scrabble for the name, and unwrinkle a slip of paper...

"_Arvid Chaney_!"

I heaved a sigh of relief. Eldridge was safe, everyone was...

_Arvid. Arvid Chaney._

My brother is not stupid. He knew what was happening. We had been required to watch it for the last eleven years. And to his credit, he didn't cry as he joined Glade on the stage. But though he wasn't stupid, he definitely wasn't 'smart'.

He didn't stand a chance. Watching him ascend the stairs to join the mayor and the escort, I knew it, and he knew it. Panem knew it. My big brother was going to die.

And you're not helping him! My conscience knew I would suffer for this, every day of my life. Unless...

"I volunteer as the tribute from District Seven!"

* * *

Arvid had cried, I was sure of that. Had I done the same? No, my face was dry. I sat with Glade in a stuffy section of the Justice building, waiting for the Peacekeepers to escort me out to my family and friends.

Glade was quiet too, which surprised me. At school, she had been an obnoxious attention-hog. Now, we both silently ruminated. My thoughts were mostly along the lines of 'Why didn't I watch the reapings? Now I won't know what I'm up against! If Glade is small compared to the other tributes, than how am I, less than five feet tall, going to last 20 seconds?'

Bad luck. I wouldn't have really been watching anyway. But the last one... As I entered the room with my mother, father, and brother, and was clutched tightly by the same woman who barely acknowledges me.

Luck had nothing to do with Arvid joining an inter-district craft show, when he made bracelets with an older District Six girl.

And surely, when he gave his favorite, a multicolored cotton band, to me as a token, it was anything but luck.

It was fate.

**--x**

**You know the drill...**

**Like him? Hate him?**

**Review and let me know.**

**Also, I am looking for costume ideas for the Mathematical Research district.**

**Thanks!**


	16. District Eight, Twyla

**I'm so sorry for my lateness. It's been forever since I posted.**

**Side note: She is supposed to be simple, and rambling, and shallow. This is not my writing style, but it's her thinking style. Hope that clears everything up!**

**--x**

Thank god for reaping day. We get to sleep in, as late as we want. Though I guess you have to wake up before the reaping starts, which is at two. But who wants to sleep that late?

Not me. I got up while the sun was still in my window, though it was a little later than usual. I was feeling okay, so I lay there for a bit and stretched. Then I actually stood up.

I like my room better than the rest of the house, so I stayed in there for a bit, picking out my clothes. I chose a beige skirt, and a bright blue top that I really like. Calico and Veronica like it the best, too.

Mom was in the kitchen, cooking, when I went out to eat breakfast. Dad was sitting at the table. I sat next to him.

We were having some weird sort of oatmeal that was this gross pale brown. I'm watching my weight, so I only had a few spoonfuls. Mom raised her eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

"Did you sleep well, honey?"

I nodded. Dad always asks me questions about how I'm doing when I'd rather be doing something else. It gets kind of annoying how he wants to be so involved in my life. I'm happy on my own.

The TV was on in the living room, so when mom finished cleaning up, and went to watch The reapings. There was nothing to do until our reaping, so I went with her. They were starting the recap of the first six districts. Nothing special. Just the huge tribute from District One, the scary girl from Two (though her district partner was pretty cute), and average careers from Four. Of course, one of them cried, but it was probably an act.

Everyone else was pretty blah. They needed a cute girl to mix it up a bit. But not me. Maybe Jessie... I hate her.

We watched this funny interview where a guy called 'Jacksin' talked the heck out of a Capitol lady. He was cute, too. His sister was annoying.

After that, mom told me to go outside. She says I'm spending too much time doing... Something or other. I wasn't really listening.

So I went out, and walked to the square early. Just by about an hour and a half. I figured There would be something interesting to get involved in.

No, just that idiot Sherman. Most of us are really pretty, I don't know why, but Sherman... Isn't. I giggled. He's not even smart, like most not-pretty people!

I guess it makes people feel better to have him around. He never sits at lunch with me, but he's always with someone. I spent a while trying to remember his name... Rob... Roy... Ron... Ugh, too hard.

Besides, the reaping would be starting soon. My reputation might be in jeopardy if I skipped out on sitting with my friends.

* * *

So, the reaping started. I was with everyone I should be sitting with, in a row in The middle of The Fourteens. We were talking about which hair color was the best to have, but quietly, because The mayor was talking, too.

Calico says that blonde is best, because your head doesn't get so hot in the sun. I think she made that up. Brown, like mine, is better, because it doesn't make anybody look worse than they already do.

The mayor keeps going on about a load of boring stuff. The Treaty of treason... Who cares? That was sixty-five years ago. Whatever old fogies signed it are dead now. This is just stupid.

When I told that to Veronica, she giggled and passed it to Calico. Hah, now everyone knew about how stupid this all was.

Finally, the mayor stopped talking. He introduced our escort, whose hair is pale to the point of white. She looked like an old lady, only younger. I giggled a bit. She sounded like a two-year-old, all chipper and high pitched, reaching into that bowl, and squealing:

"_Twyla Braughn_!

Ha, and she looked around all expectant, waiting for some idiot who'd not realized their name was called. Veronica stuck an elbow in my ribs, and I shrieked pretty loudly. I wasn't expecting that.

"Twyla, she called YOU!"

Oh. That was unexpected. I was pretty flushed with embarrassment when I got up. I could feel all the people and cameras staring at me, and I smiled. It probably looked fake, but whatever.

When I got on the stage, the escort pretended it hadn't happened, and pulled the boy's name.

"Sherman Whitmeyer!"

Well, at least I won't have to kill someone hot.

* * *

I got stuck in a horrible little room with Sherman, who seemed determined not to look at me. I don't really know why. Maybe it's because I was way prettier? Who knows.

Mom and Dad came to visit me in the same visiting session. Neither of them were crying, but mom looked kinda sad.

"Twyla, sweetie... Just do your best, okay?"

Dad seemed a bit shaken.

Mom sort of half smiled up at me from where she was sitting, in a really nice chair. Why don't the rooms they put me and Sherman in have those chairs?

"I'm sure you'll make it," mom said halfheartedly.

What? Halfheartedly? She doesn't really think I will? She thinks I won't come home? Maybe I won't but I have a good chance, thank-you-very-much.

The visiting time was up, and mom actually started crying.

"Goodbye, Twyla! Goodbye!"

Maybe I should answer...

**--x**

**So? Love her? Hate her?**

**You know what you should do. Let me know.**

**I did a character study on Actassi, should I post it?**

**Thanks to everyone, especially Casper, who sacrificed her character's dignity to end my writer's block.**


	17. District Eight, Sherman

**This was a fun chapter to write. I kind of like Sherman. Unfortunately, Twyla has a bit too much power over him. But really, who knows how the games will turn out?**

**--x**

Light woke me, streaming uncomfortably in, and staining my eyelids a sort of orange. It was a weird way to wake up; when I opened my eyes I was nearly blinded.

I had to feel around on my bedside table for my glasses. It was several minutes before I realized I was wearing them. Sometimes I'm an idiot like that, like when I'm around girls.

Or, apparently, when I've just woken up. It'll take a while to get used to my new room.

My family moved houses just a few days ago. It's not a big move, but I don't have to share a room with Walker. He's a real jerk.

I got up, and there was a scent of roasting meat. Mom was probably making a special breakfast for reaping day. Maybe turkey, or chicken, on the last of the tessera bread.

In the kitchen, I was proved right. There were several sizzling strips of meat in a pan over the fire. Turkey. Not as good as chicken, but pretty close.

Unfortunately, Walker was up, too. Being obnoxious, of course. At the moment, he was poking at the turkey while mom cut the bread. He's 19; you'd think he would have grown out of being an idiot.

We eventually did get 'turkey on toast', if you could call it that. After the move, we've had to economize. Basically, a piece of meat on a chunk of bread is now a lavish breakfast. The tributes in the Hunger Games eat better than this.

Mom was talking while we ate. She was really glad that Walker was finally old enough to be out of the Hunger Games. I heard that dad's brother was in them, and he died real fast. Now dad doesn't talk much. I don't think he ever quite got over Webb.

I met him, once. I really don't remember, because I was just a little baby. Dad was the older one, by eight years. It was the day he got chosen.

"_C'mon, Walker. Don't dawdle."_

_Dad dragged a three-year-old Walker alongside him, heading towards the Eighteens. We were going to wish Webb luck._

_I was wrapped up in some fabric mom had taken from the factory. It was nice, and cozy. Very plush. It would have been sent to the Capitol, surely._

_Webb looked a bit pale, shaking, as we got approval to go greet him. I think he envied dad, for being older, and already having a family._

_We sat beside him, briefly._

"_Don't worry, Webb. It's your last reaping year. You only have... What, twenty slips?"_

_Dad smiled, trying to comfort his brother, but he looked a bit nervous too._

"_It's more than that, Bruce. Let's just hope I make it, okay? I don't want to talk. Not now."_

_We were ushered into the crowd, where we watched, horrified, as "Webb Whitmeyer!" became a tribute._

_And when the time for visitors came, only dad was allowed in. He left the room crying, something he never did again._

It was understandable that he hated reapings.

But nonetheless, when it is time to go to one, you go. There are worse things than a reaping.

Like missing one.

* * *

I don't really know anyone very well, outside of my family. Sure, there are loads of kids my age, but none of them really look like me. My mom's a Peacekeeper's daughter, so all the 'good genetics' from this generation were sort of wasted on me.

Supposedly, my maternal grandfather's genes cancel whatever happened out, though they do ensure that we don't starve on a day-to-day basis.

No one really cares, though. The girls just keep being gorgeous, and the boys keep being morons. Circle of life.

I gave my mom a quick hug, and gave Walker a kick in the shins, and ran to the Fourteens. I checked who was around me.

Not really anyone. Even Regan was late. Just Twyla, Calico, and some other girl whose name has a V in it somewhere.

I'd always thought Twyla was pretty, and she'd always though I was an idiot who didn't know how to talk. We pretty much have a system.

Calico is a bit more active, occasionally insulting me. V-girl just giggles at whatever either of them says. They're a lot like very pretty birds; all high pitched voices and quick movements.

I settled into my seat to wait for the reaping to start. It did, but it was a long wait.

The Mayor took the stage, a middle-aged man. I bet he wears a toupee. His hair always seems a bit askew.

He made pretty much the same speech as all the other districts' Mayors do. All 'GO CAPITOL! RAH! RAH! RAHHH!'

Well, maybe I'm exaggerating. But it was really, really, boring.

Finally, he had the escort for our district come on stage. It was a crazy looking lady, a bit older than my brother, but with white hair already. She had the voice of a Mockingjay who'd spent the day at a nursery.

"Happy Hunger Games! May the best tribute win!"

Finally, it was time for the names to be picked. All I really wanted was to go home and go to sleep. I could even deal with skipping dinner. The reaping was just so... Tiring. Exhausting. Ergh.

She reached deep into the girls' bowl, artificial nails scratching uncomfortably on the glass.

"_Twyla Braughn_!"

Oh no! Twyla... She takes a few seconds to figure out that she's been called, but a blushing, smiling Twyla makes her way to the stage. It's going to hurt to see her get killed.

The woman with white hair congratulates her, and moves to the boys bowl. The name picked is "_Sherman Whitmeyer_!"

Well, this can't be good.

* * *

I was stuck in a blood-colored room with Twyla. Its glow made both of us look like we were dying, but Twyla was doing so in a _pretty_ way. How does she do that?

My stomach was twisted into several rather large knots, being so close to her, but she wasn't paying any attention to me. Why would she? Unless I was something that would help her survive, I couldn't picture her sparing me a second glance.

But I'm not that desperate. And who's to say that she would even accept my help? Maybe I'm just so low-down in her mind that I don't even exist.

I realize that just the thought of being near her is getting my hopes up. Stupid hopes. Probably they'd stay where they were, and then die when I do. I guess that's good news; my hopes were never really that nice anyway.

As long as she doesn't return my feeling... I nearly slap myself. My feelings don't exist. I don't have them. Not in Twyla-world.

The Peacekeeper assigned to us takes me to my family, and her to hers. I feel terrible for my dad, my mom cries a lot, and Walker is surprisingly unemotional. A boring send off, really. I can't help but feel bad for dad.

He's lost his son, and his brother, to the games.

The only thing that I have to lose is my life.

**--x**

**So? Like him, hate him? The only way I'll know is if you review!**

**We are 2/3 of the way to the games! YAY!**

**Remember to vote in the poll on my profile, and get your vote in, especially if you're not a Kali-supporter...**

**She's taking the lead.**


	18. District Nine, Diane

**Teehee! Finally a chapter with some BLOOD!**

**Happy birthday, Maren! I heard she was your favorite, so I made it nice and gory.**

**--x**

My dreams are happy. Rigel and I are in the allotted woods, searching for a snow-white rabbit. He is my eyes, searching for the tell-tale rabbit shape. We run for a long time, through inexplicable ice despite the heat, and he points carefully.

I draw my bowstring taut... And the arrow falls just short. Rigel seems sad, but I tickle him, and he can't help but laugh.

When I woke up, he was still laughing. In the kitchen with Saida, my mom. Probably they were reheating the rabbit I got a few nights ago, as a bonus when I walked home from school.

The little beast was just foolish; it ran into my path. I dropped on it quite by accident. The poor thing was hurt, and it was only right to put it out of its misery. It was tasty, too. We don't get much rabbit, it's a bit out of the normal price range.

I walked out of the room Rigel and I share, and I must have looked an awful sight. Rigel stuffed his fist into his mouth, but he was still obviously giggling. I put my hand to my hair, which turned out to have mysteriously matted into a coat to rival that of a winter elk's. Not good, especially since it was reaping day.

Appearances aren't normally my thing, but it can be damaging to appear at a reaping looking like a small family of mice have made their home in your hair. Specifically, like I did at that very moment. It was with a false smile and a forcedly light hand that I took a brush off the small table in the middle of the room, and ran it through my hair.

Saida was stifling laughter, no doubt at the faces I was making. Stupid brush... It hurt like hell having that thing in my hair. No doubt I had torn several large chunks out, and was bleeding down the back of my neck.

My hair was far from sleek as I sat down to warm rabbit, but most knots were thankfully absent. Sweet relief... I hate pain. Just can't stand it.

Rigel was the first finished, and he danced gleefully around the table before dashing into Saida and Esau's room. Saida, again, laughed, and noises of him jumping on my father echoed into the dining room. Poor Esau... Though I myself have suffered several of Rigel's 'wake-up calls'.

We all sat at the table while everyone finished eating, and when that was done, we talked a bit about the past week. I think we were purposefully avoiding the topic of 'reaping day'.

Unfortunately, the refusal to mention something doesn't make it disappear. The reaping came, and like every other person in District Nine, we left the safety of our house, entering the chaos that was the square.

* * *

Why were we late? We're always just a bit late to reapings, or anywhere for that matter. Saida has a bad leg, and we can't exactly carry her. Full of pride, my mom is. I don't think she'd even let us try.

Nonetheless, we were late, and I had a difficult time finding a seat in the Seventeens. The square was being repaved, so there were the added difficulties of cracks, dips, and rises in the cement. We were assured it would look much nicer after it was done, but for now, it looked like a total mess. A total, dangerous, mess.

I sat with two smallish girls I don't think I recognized, though they looked friendly and a tad familiar.

Our mayor, a somewhat stringy man in his mid-30's, walked up to the front of the stage, and started his speech. He has a weird, nasal voice, and his face looks a lot like a rat's.

He sounds like our history teacher, but he doesn't talk quite so much about hunting. Just the Capitol, the Capitol, the Capitol. Urgh. Boring. I've heard all this stuff since my first reaping, as a baby.

After a long time spent talking, the rat-faced mayor welcomed our escort up. His hair is the color of... Pain. Bright, bright yellow, like you see after you fall, as you roll around screaming. His face isn't much better, let me tell you.

His voice is just like every other Capitol man's; Accent, pitch, everything.

"Enjoy the Hunger Games, and may the best tribute win!"

I'm practically doubled over in suspense by the time he reaches the girls' bowel. He reached in, grasping a name.

"_Diane Glenn_!"

Well, crud. If I'm going to think of an image for myself, I've got to do it now. Think, Diane, think! I settle on the 'huntress' image I privately entertain. Show enthusiasm for the hunt...

I stand swiftly, and all but run up to the podium, trying to be careful. It works, until I come upon a large crack in the road. In the split second that I was airborn, I realized that I needed to stop my fall, and I foolishly extended my right wrist.

I landed, with a resounding thud, and my wrist split with pain. Bone pierced the tender area around the joint, and a tiny, but audible _crick_ was heard, before my eyes exploded with color, and I shrieked loudly.

Head a total loss, I crawled towards the stage. My right hand is my dominant, so the going was incredibly difficult. Twelves backed away; I was pouring blood on the road. Several Peacekeepers realized what was happening, and ran up to get me off the ground and onto the stage.

Were they still going to put me in the arena? With, what felt like, a broken wrist? How would I use a bow, or hold a spear?

I'm on the stage, and someone has been sent for bandages. The escort, unfazed, walked over to the boys' bowl to pull out a name.

"_Wilder Smyk_!"

I'd get a better look at him, but my wrist hurts so much. I can't look at it either. Just knowing that the bone is out in the air... A wave of nausea swept over me. I could hear Saida yelling for me, probably trying to get through the crowd. I hoped that Rigel couldn't see what was happening.

A peacekeeper got back with bandages and some sort of antiseptic. Can't have their sacrifice dying of natural causes, can they?

The pain overtakes me, and I black out.

* * *

When I woke up, I was moving. Not me, but the ground under me, I guess. I could feel it. Was it an earthquake?

I opened my eyes. No, not an earthquake. Much, much, worse. I was on the train that would take me to the Capitol. I was in the Hunger Games. District Nine was far behind me. Steadily further, as the train I was in continued on its journey.

I was headed at a lightning pace, closer and closer to my death; farther and farther from my family. And the worst part?

_I hadn't said goodbye._

**--x**

**So, birthdays aside...**

**Like her? Hate her? All you have to do is REVIEW, and let me know.**

**Thank you all for standing by me for so long!**


	19. District Nine, Wilder

**The next time I'm this late with a chapter, someone pm me an angry message. Seriously.**

**--x**

Like every male in this district, I'm supposed to be a hunter. Big, strong, unafraid, and dumb as a post. All the more willing to do something dangerous. That, the stereotypical hunter, was my father. He doesn't do much breathing any more.

It was the stag that killed him, says my mother. She's wrong, though. It was his obsession that made him follow a full-grown deer into its own part of the forest during rutting season.

I used to wish I was like him, a hunter. His death, however, made it clear that 'hunter' is not what will help me survive in the long run. 'Intelligence' will, and that is unfortunately lacking in most of our district. We are hunters, but stupid ones.

And the commentators wonder why we are often the first ones out of the Hunger Games?

That train of thought brings me back to the present; awake, putting on clothes. getting ready for reaping day, like everyone else in the district. Just a slightly-cleaner-than-normal black shirt, and loose black cloth pants.

At last, I left the room and continued to the kitchen. Mom was looking exhausted; she was most likely crying again. It's hard to be around her after dad's death. She spends more time crying than sleeping. It contributes to her air of having given up on life, which in turn contributes to my own.

Some boys who lost their fathers turned to 'writing'. They were declared to be 'emotional' and thus, loved by every female within five years of their age. It would be comical if I hadn't come so close to being like them.

We had dry bread and a bit of butter for breakfast. After all, isn't reaping day a time for extravagance above all else? Yum.

"Maybe we should slow down, mom," I said, attempting a joke. "All this food will go straight to our hips."

She didn't even look up at me, but continued eating as if on autopilot. I should just stop trying, I guess. Humor around this house is about as appreciated as President Snow at a wedding.

Scratch that; people would be happier with the addition of the President. And that's saying a lot.

I sighed, and put away the dishes. Mom continued to sit, clearly in her own little world again. I doubt she had ever fully left it. She wouldn't remember to eat if it wasn't for me.

The reaping was still a few hours away, so I settled down to watch the recaps of the reapings on the T.V. I had missed the first few districts, and I barely caught District Six as a blonde girl and an angry ginger were picked. Neither of them could be over Sixteen.

District Seven was next; the mayor's spoiled daughter and a tiny boy were chosen. Then District Eight, which yielded a very pretty brunette and a 'different' looking boy.

There were a few interviews with some of the contestants visitors. A little girl in District Six talked about her big sister, another pretty girl from District Eight gave a commentary on 'Twyla'. No one came to talk about the District Eight guy- poor sap.

My own reaping was near, and I gathered mom and a few of her things for the fist journey to the square we'd ever made without Roe, my dad.

* * *

In the square, I found mom a seat before joining my fellow Eighteens. I pointedly avoided Cyrene's gaze, and she did the same. I wouldn't have to endure any more drama on a day that already held so much, thank god.

We all shuffled a bit while waiting to start. Everyone was anxious to get their last reaping over with. Even Atalanta stopped trying to make her hair look perfect. The last time that had happened, she didn't have hair.

Our mayor, a sneaky looking man about 35 years old, walked on the stage, and began speaking in a nasal, almost painful to hear voice. He introduced the games, and welcomed back our escort, Dité. It seemed he was dragging the speech on as long as possible. Perhaps he was the only one who enjoyed hearing himself speak.

Finally, he let Dité come up on stage. Our escort's hair has changes from fluorescent orange, last year, to fluorescent yellow. He doesn't have a lot of range, I'm guessing.

"Enjoy the Hunger Games, and may the best tribute win!"

He went to the girls' bowl, and pulled out "_Diane Glenn_!" and a confident strawberry blonde girl with an aura of confidence strode out of the Seventeens.

And then things went wrong. She was sent sailing by a large rut in the road, which was being redone. Her wrist connected with the ground, instead of her skull, which I suppose was a good reflex. But there was a _shnick!_ And the bone of her wrist jutted through the skin, spilling blood on the road.

The Peacekeepers were slow to react, in the absence of orders, but the girl's shriek brought them back around. They bandaged her, and carried her on stage. What? She was still going to be in the games?

Dité didn't even seem to notice. His grin never faltered, even as Diane was placed on the stage next to him, still sluggishly bleeding.

He confidently walked to the boys' bowl, pulling out "_Wilder Smyk_!"

Me.

That's my name.

I rolled my eyes for the camera, and tried to look nonchalant as I walked through the slightly bloodstained patch of road where Diane had fallen. I'd have to get used to it if I wanted to stay alive.

As I joined my competitor, who passed out from the pain of a single broken bone, I thought about inflicting that kind of pain; experiencing that kind of pain.

In those few seconds, standing in a pool of blood, I realized that living was no longer my top priority.

In the Hunger Games, that's code for 'I'm screwed'.

* * *

It was indescribably awkward, in a room with an unconscious girl who had four people pounding on the door, desperate to see her one last time, while I sat there, ready to see anyone who came, with no one willing to see me off.

At last a Peacekeeper informed me that someone had come to visit me. My mom? I really wanted to see her. But no, the mystery person was not my mother, or even a concerned teacher.

It was Cyrene. She ran to me, and threw her arms around me. I wasn't sure if I was happy, or annoyed. I patted her back slowly, and hoped that she would let go. It took her a while.

"I'm so sorry," she said quietly.

"Same," I replied, ever the eloquent one.

We just sort of sat there, trying to make up for everything we had said in the last few months, though we knew it was impossible. There was no way three minutes was enough time to undo every wrong, but we tried.

She had to leave, and Diane was wheeled out of the Justice Building, me trailing behind the gurney. We were situated on the train.

I'm sure she would wish she could have said goodbye. I almost, almost wished I hadn't.

**--x**

**So? What do you think about him?**

**Like him, hate him, any suggestions... You know the drill.**

**Seriously, though. I am starved for your comments. DX**


	20. District Ten, Hypatia

**I. Am. So. Sorry. I'm a very bad updater. Shame on me. BAD CLARA! NO COOKIE!**

**--x**

I guess you could say I'm a freak. But it's not my fault.

My dad works at a mathematical philosophy agency, and before I was born, he got the idiotic notion that he could raise the perfect child. He succeeded, too; if by perfect you mean 'bitter, overprotected'.

Congratulations. You officially have a twisted mind.

Finally, though, there's something in my life he can't control. And it starts today. The reaping! I've calculated my chances, and they are minimal. However, for the hour where we listen to the mayor and our escort, I'll be alone. Which is wonderful.

Eventually, I would have to get up. Better to do it now than delay it. Maybe a couple more seconds in bed... Nope. I reluctantly put my feet to the cold stone floor. It would be warmer in the kitchen, I hoped. Maybe dad wouldn't be awake yet, and I wouldn't have to listen to him preach about 'discovering the meaning of numbers'.

Again, I had no such luck. He was awake, drinking instant coffee at the table. He smiled when I walked in.

"You're awake, Hypatia! I was going to go in and wake you up in a few more minutes."

He smiles, and gestures that I should sit down. I do, because despite what I realize he has made me, I want to make him happy. My dear, overprotective father. Funny, I can never think of him in a negative way.

My father makes my breakfast every morning. It's always eggs. 'Brain food' he calls it, with a sickly sweet smile that's supposed to reinforce a sense of comfort in me. At least that's what he says when Alexander, from accounting, comes to visit us. He thinks I don't listen when he talks about me, but I've been raised too 'smart' not to listen. I never know when it could mean a new dietary regime, or a course in sociology.

The eggs are good, I have to admit. And half of our district doesn't eat nearly as well. I don't know what it's like, but I think I'd prefer starving to this. I don't empathize with the children of minor technicians and philosophers.

I finished my breakfast silently, not spilling a drop of water, or dropping a scrap of egg on my lap. My manners are impeccable, as always, and my father looks on, proudly. Silly man.

After I was done, he put away the dishes while I turned on the television. This year he can't object to my watching the Hunger Games. If I'm up for the draw, I have to know what I'm up against, eh?

When I saw my first 'recap' clip, I wished I hadn't even looked at the television. There were two tributes, both boys, younger than twenty. One was sorely wounded, with a gash down the side of his leg, with the other clearly experiencing head trauma. The boy with the bad leg thrust his spear, and I was unable to avert my eyes as it connected with the dizzy boy's neck, with a sickening _shquick_. Eww...

Hmm, Bertrand Ericsson. He looked like most of the tributes who had won over the years, though one or two smaller tributes had won. No one younger than thirteen has triumphed in a long time.

I guess that's a good thing. A twelve year old has a lot longer to live with the guilt then a seventeen year old.

Father said it was time to head for the reaping, but he looked a bit sad. All the time I spent with the other Twelves was time wasted on my self-improvement, to him. No doubt, my lessons would resume when we returned home. I sighed, before pulling on my coat, and exiting the house.

* * *

Father insisted on holding my hand all the way to the square. It really bothered me. I'm twelve, okay? Old enough to enter the Hunger Games, though maybe not win. Just maybe. There's a first time for everything, eh?

I made it to the square safely, thanks to my father's guidance. We were all worried, so it was a relief for everyone, I'm sure. He played the 'come back safe' card, and escorted me all the way to the Twelves. No one recognized me. No one sat by me. Thanks, father.

It was several minutes of sheer awkwardness before anyone came onstage. My freedom from guidance was rapidly dwindling, and I hadn't even tried to talk to anyone! Watching the other Twelves giggle and chatter is torture. Worse, I see Archimedes, the only boy with a name, and brain, to match mine, laughing with Theano. She doesn't deserve him. Theano is the opposite of him. And me, too. Maybe he doesn't like hair like mine?

That's impossible. He has the same hair I do. Everyone likes their hair, at least all the Twelves. We're a shallow bunch.

Our mayor did eventually make an appearance; such lateness as his is frowned upon by the Capitol, however. More than likely, we will have a new mayor next year. Our current one has been increasingly inflammatory against the President. We'll miss him, nonetheless.

I found it impossible to fully comprehend what he was saying, beneath his thick District Ten accent, and the voices of my peers. Theano, in particular. She grates on my nerves uncomfortably.

The speech the mayor was making came to a close awkwardly. Our escort, however, was vivacious as always as she skipped up to the platform. She was wearing an over-emphasized pair of glasses, though I had no doubts that her vision was perfect, and her hair was alternating streaks of purple and gold. The look did not complement her in the least.

"I know you're all just as excited for the Hunger Games as me. This year, District Ten _will _have a victor!"

She performed a strange dance, pumping the air with her fist and alternately gyrating. It was likely awkward to do, and even more uncomfortable to watch.

We all breathed a sigh of relief when she stopped, and dizzily walked to the bowl from which the girl's name would be chosen. A lesser person than I would have been hoping for Theano's name to be pulled, but I was simply focused on my name not being chosen.

"_Hypatia Leanodas_!"

I hesitated. I had seen enough snippets of previous reapings to know that I was supposed to walk up to the stage to be led into the justice building. But how had I been picked? My father would rather starve than apply for any tessarae.

Out of thousands of slips, I had been only one. The odds, as any escort would put it, were in my favor.

I walked as delicately as I could, and pasted a look of terrified apprehension across my features. That was something a sponsor with a little daughter could identify with, and I was hoping desperately that someone would see me, and volunteer out of pity.

Halfway to the stage, there was an altercation back in the Sixteens. A short girl, with long brown hair, had stood up.

"I vo-"

She was cut off by the boy next to her, who, horrified, had wrapped his arm around hers, and pulled her back to her seat.

"No, Ipso!" he muttered. "Don't go!"

She meekly resumed her seat, momentary bravery gone. The escort didn't pursue it further, nor did the Peacekeepers. I continued my walk to the stage, trying not to look at the crowd. My little-girl image required it, and I was sure my father would try to meet my gaze. That wouldn't do.

Our unruffled escort reached for the second bowl, still smiling pearly white. She pulled out a name...

"Antiphon Marinus!"

I don't know him. Really, I don't know anyone. But I was still shocked, though I hid it well, that the boy joining me, with a slightly shocked expression, was the very same who had doomed me to my own demise. Well, I probably shouldn't have, but I felt a vindictive sense of pleasure. Bet he wishes his girlfriend was with him instead of some little Twelve, eh?

Moron. He tries to grin, and fails spectacularly, as we are led to the Justice Building.

He had it coming.

* * *

I really wanted to refuse all visitors, but I didn't. Just my dad. It was a stretch, though, that someone else came to see me.

When the Peacekeepers had told me that an older man had come to visit, I told them to escort him out. But when they announced the arrival of 'a boy my age', curiosity got the better of me, and I let him in.

It was Archimedes, looking very, very uncomfortable in a button-down shirt, of the kind no one looks good in.

"Hello," he said, looking away. I was just as shy as he, and no words were exchanged.

He left, and with the Peacekeepers behind me, I walked to the train.

Good bye...

**--x**

**As an apology of sorts, this one is a few hundred words longer than usual.**

**I'm wondering why I have no angry pm's...**


	21. District Ten, Antiphon

**Late, but not as late as last chapter! I love y'all!**

**--x**

My hair was in my eyes when I woke up, like it usually is. I'm pretty thankful for its light color, because otherwise I would spend half the day not able to see. It's a bit obsessive, but I already can't wait to see Ipso, even if it is at the reaping, eh?

I really got lucky to have such a good girlfriend. I wouldn't say I'm the smartest, or the best looking, or anything, really, in our year. But everything really came together about a month ago, and now I only leave her alone to eat and sleep. Ipso is perfect, at least to me. Everything is perfect.

Due to the noises in the kitchen, I could guess that mom was up already. Maybe making some food. She couldn't ever go wrong with food. I'll stick to it; mom is the best cook ever. She can make even the Tessera taste good.

Despite some long behind me school issues, the prospect of unlimited food has never made me want to volunteer for the games. I sort of regret it. Our boy tribute last year was a Twelve. He would have made a great kid, when he was a little older. It was horror watching him try to make friends with the District Six girl, and get shot through the stomach just a few moments after she fell.

I cried a lot that day. Ipso had tried to help me through it, but even she has her limits. Though I hate to say that. I really shouldn't.

There was breakfast on the table by the time I made it out of my room. Tessera rolls, and a sort of mint jelly. It wasn't the best, but show me a Capitol cook who could make do with my mom's salary feeding two, and I'll show you a wild dog who can tap-dance while doing calculus equations, eh?

I actually thought that, and I couldn't keep from laughing. Man, I can be funny. Even though the reaping is nothing to joke about. Ipso could be chosen, or me. And that would ruin my good mood, permanently. Because neither of us (and probably, no one in District Ten) stood a hair of a chance.

My assumptions were proven corrects, as I flipped on the TV in time to watch the District Two girl turn on a dime to disable her friend, who had been talking to her seconds before. Just because she volunteered too. Violence at the reapings? There's a first. Nothing like that ever happens in District Ten, eh. But we've rarely won...

I turned the TV off. If I was picked, I could watch it on the train. But I wouldn't be. Way more kids had more Tessarae than me, and I felt bad for them, despite being thankful.

For a while, I just sort of lounged on the couch, listening to mom talk about 'Crazy Theon' and his poor daughter, Hypatia, to Vitale. She just stopped by to chat, but left quickly, once she ran out of gossip. I don't really listen in, but I was bored. I actually couldn't wait for the reaping.

Though time was as slow as... Well, anything, the time for the reaping finally came. Mom and I stepped out of the house, me whistling happily. Nothing could go wrong...

I was going to see Ipso.

* * *

She wasn't there yet, when I sat down to wait for the reaping to begin. She'd come, though. Everyone comes to the reapings, eh? The stands filled up slowly, but I was able to watch everyone. A tiny blonde girl was escorted all the way to the Twelves by her dad, poor girl. I felt a bit bad, but laughed with everyone else.

Finally, Ipso got there. She sat down with me, but looked distant, and incredibly sad. Her pretty green eyes were watery, and distant.

"What's wrong?" I asked, putting my arm around her.

Ipso sniffed deeply.

"It's Diotima."

What? Her little sister had always been a bit pale, and had never gained any weight, no matter how much food Ipso and her mom tried to get into her. But there were never any other problems, were there?

"She died last night," Ipso said, barely audible.

That poor girl! If only this was District Two. For all our math, and methodical reason, we have never received enough supplies from the Capitol for medical patients. The earlier districts get first crack at it. Only Eleven and Twelve are worse off, really.

Unfortunately, before I had time to reply, the mayor came onstage. I had noticed that he had recently been saying more and more Capitol-trashing things. I bet it was annoying the President.

Anyway, he made a really boring speech, and I really did try to listen. But it's awful hard to focus when your girlfriend is crying into your shoulder, and there's absolutely nothing you can do.

Eventually, our escort (Medea? Miranda?) came up after him. I think I saw her make a face at him, but I don't think anyone else did. Besides, I was preoccupied with Ipso, who was still crying.

She still did the whole 'perky-happy' routine, and went to select a name.

"_Hypatia Leanodas_!"

Oh no! A little Twelve, skinny as a stick and pale as a... Pale thing, was walking up to the stage, trembling and looking, in general, terrified. I felt Ipso stiffen in my arms. She looked horrified, and I quickly realized why.

"Diotima," she whispered.

I watched in abject terror as Ipso stood up. _Not her..._

"I vo..."

I pulled her down as fast as I could. Had someone heard? Obviously. I put a hand around her mouth. There was no way I was losing Ipso, not now, not today.

"No, Ipso! Don't go!" I whispered, but by now, the cameras, and microphones, were all focused on me. Every citizen of Panem could ear me. Unexpectedly, I felt my ears heat up. Why was I embarrassed?

The attention was turned away abruptly; apparently, a man in the crowd was doing something more interesting than saving his girlfriend's life.

We were very lucky. The Peacekeepers, and escort, decided not to pursue Ipso's almost-volunteer. I could feel it. We were in the clear. We could go home, and cry for Diotima, and the little Twelve, but in safety.

Me-something reached into the second bowl, pulling out a slip. I wonder who has the job of writing down all those names. Must get pretty boring.

"_Antiphon Marinus_!"

Someone. Volunteer. Anyone. Please.

No help was offered, and still thinking in syllables, I walked up to the stage, where the little girl looked almost happy. Why was I with her, instead of Ipso? Would something have changed if I had let Ipso volunteer?

No... Only that I would have had to watch her die...

* * *

I only let Ipso come to see me. Mom would have liked it better that way. She's a strong woman. I don't want to hurt her with my last words.

Ipso's been crying even more. I can't blame her. I'd be doing the same thing, if she wasn't here. Why did this have to end? Poor Ipso. Poor me.

She hugs me for nearly a minute, without talking, and then looks up, with her eyes huge and wet.

"Take care of Diotima."

What? Diotima died! I can't help her any more. But I can't say that out loud. It would be insensitive. So instead, I ask "how?"

Not much better.

"Keep her safe. Don't let them kill her."

She wants me to protect the little girl who was happy I was chosen? I had heard about people going into shock when someone died, but this was way more. She was asking me to die. I wasn't ready.

"You want me to... Die?"

She looked shocked. "No... Yes... Just... Don't let them kill her. And don't let them kill you. Come back."

Usually it's her with the commitment issues... She continues to look pleadingly up at me, and I love her. I guess. Maybe I still do. So I lie.

"We'll both be safe, Ipso. We'll both come home. I'm sorry."

A peacekeeper comes in, informing us that our time is up. No, her time isn't up. His time isn't up.

But my time is.

And I can't even hide behind my love for Ipso any more.

**--x**

**So? Like him, hate him? Review, and tell me.**

**Or, vote in my brand-new poll, which is very shiny, and allows you to place ANOTHER vote.**

**And yes, your votes have already influenced the course of the story.**

**Special thanks to LoveTheBoyWithTheBread, for your angry pm. You got me back on track.**

**And scared my laptop into submission.**


	22. District Eleven, Anona

**WHOOT! Relatively quickly updated chapter!**

**I'm so proud of me! :3**

**--x**

Every morning, the sun illuminates the small room in our house where we sleep, instantly beautifying its occupants, and the furnishings. Well, whoop-di-do. If it could just do that more often, and spend a bit more time on my mom, then we'd be set.

I'm an early riser, for my family, so I usually just get up and stare at everyone, hoping they'll freak out when they wake up. It only works on my brother, Hawes. But he's not the sharpest thorn on the tree, if you know what I mean.

Then, I usually wake mom up, and try to get her to cook something for breakfast. Usually, this 'something' involves scarfing down an unidentifiable hunk of charred fruit, and lying when mom asks if it was good. At least it's food.

This morning, however, was a bit different. For one thing, it's my third-to-last reaping, and requires some celebration on my part. For another, Hawes isn't moving when I try to wake him up. That's a problem.

"Hey." I shook him a bit, causing him to roll just a tiny bit. "Get up, Hawes."

No response. I put my hand in front of his mouth, and only felt a little flow of air.

"Hawes!" I repeated, louder. My mom stirred from her position on the small bed in the corner. "Hawes! Get up!"

Even my normal eloquence deserted me, as I shook him. I appeared my vocabulary had diminished to "Hawes!" and "Dammit!"

By now, mom was rubbing her eyes, and beginning to notice a problem. Took her long enough. She walked over, blinking blearily.

"Anona? What's the problem?"

I wasn't willing to get up and explain right then. I could almost feel Hawes' breath coming in a little stronger. That was good, right?

His eyes opened, just a bit. Then they closed again. No, that was probably bad. Dammit.

"Mom," I explained, as calmly as I could, which was somewhere under the category of 'not very'. "Hawes, your eldest child, is not acting particularly 'lifelike'."

After years of dealing with my strange manner of speaking, my mother took the cue to begin panicking. She grabbed up the bedding she had been lying on moments before, and thrust it under Hawes' head, and began pumping his chest.

It seemed like a very long time before his breathing leveled. I went to get some water from the jug in our other room, and poured just a little into his mouth, causing his eyelids to flutter again. This time they stayed that way, save for the average blinking.

I felt terrible, a situation in which I normally have some difficulty. The reaping was in what? An hour? And I would be leaving my brother alone, to wait for the Peacekeepers that would invariably check to see if he was truly sick. What else could I do? Drag him there, and risk worsening his condition?

I couldn't tell what was wrong with him, and it was with a heavy heart that I told mom about what would have to be done. She objected, of course.

"I'll stay with him. Pretend to be sick, too."

No. Way. They don't send the stupid Peacekeepers to check on the 'ill'. Maybe they would bring a doctor? No, no, no. My day was down the river, and rapidly, my fantasies of celebrating with mom and Hawes to the tune of 'Two years left!" were following.

Mom was unshakeable. Her son, her boy, was at stake. I was old enough to take care of myself. She gestured at the door, and I put on a black cotton dress. It was black with mourning, as much as it was black to hide the stains (poorly).

I wasn't sure I was ready, but mom signaled me to leave. And I did, but not before I glanced back, fearing I would never see her and Hawes alive again.

* * *

I don't cope well with fear. 'Well' would be a flight response, or hiding it. I get nasty to be around. And not in the 'scary' way, in the 'bitchy' way. In the square, even people who had previously shown themselves to be close friends were treated to a glare, and perhaps a sputtered profanity.

Yep, I didn't really blame them (in the back of my mind) for acting like I didn't belong. I really didn't. I was supposed to be at home, comforting my mother, and miraculously curing my brother. Not sitting alone, exuding 'mean-Anona' aura.

At the moment, I really didn't give a crap about what anyone else wanted. Except me. And what I wanted, was not to be here. Did the world listen? No. There was no flood, which invariably killed every Peacekeeper. Ms. Malinka didn't run by, revealing that the rules had been changed, and I could go home.

That was obvious. She was sitting in the crowd, looking sad, but beaming down at a little girl. I couldn't remember her name. Rose, or something. It was a flower. They looked so happy, with the little baby cooing on her shoulder, and Ms. Malinka smiling dreamily at her round belly. Even here, there were little miracles.

Not for my brother, though. By now, as the mayor made a short, clipped, speech about the merits of the Hunger Games, Peacekeepers had undoubtedly noticed his absence in the Eighteens. The escort followed after the mayor, but I barely heard her. Was my mom still alive? Did the Peacekeepers get carried away, as they often do, and kill him, too?

No, no, no. Focus. The escort was drawing the girl's name.

"_Anona Semanalle!_"

I instinctively stood up. That was my name, after all. Even if it was coming from our escort's barbaric accent-tinted tongue… Wait, my name? No chance of sitting down now. Everyone could see me, standing there, like an awkward little girl. Not the image I wanted.

I strode up to the stage, attempting to bury the idea of my dead mother (and possibly, brother). Not working, but it gave me something to think about, though it was admittedly, morose.

"Any volunteers?" chirped the escort.

None. It's District Eleven, after all. Home of the huge farmers daughters, too self-absorbed to volunteer for a girl who can't defend herself as well as they can. I was still in a state of fear, so I hadn't quite lost my 'unfairness' mentality.

I waited for the escort to choose a boy's name, and she did.

"_Spencer_ _Ferron_!"

He's our blacksmiths son. But god, he is _gorgeous_. I would kill for those eyelashes. I don't know how he got so pretty. Probably his mom; the blacksmith's hideous.

Suddenly, I realized that staring at Spencer seemed to distract me from my worries about mom and Hawes. Wonderful! Justification for my new hobby.

They could still be okay…

* * *

There's no way they're okay. Spencer's visitors seem to flow in, faster than water from a pitcher, but mine are hovering somewhere between 'absent' and 'silent as the grave'.

I can't make myself cry for them, though. Does that make me a bad daughter; a bad sister? I hope it doesn't. I'd hate to leave without my good memories, so I sit in the small, dark room, thinking. Remembering Hawes making that hilarious face, as he wakes up, with me staring at him.

Living in one moment I have, me hugging mom, dad, and Hawes, before dad left, and screwed everything up. I can't seem to keep the bitter out of the sweet.

If I could do my life, and their lives, over again, what would I do?

One thing's for sure; I wouldn't spend the last few seconds of my time in the district I grew up in staring at a beautiful boy.

But I did, anyway.

I'm alone now. I deserve some simple happiness.

**--x**

**So? Like her, hate her, let me know!**

**Also, a huge thanks for the 152 reviews. Y'all rock!**


	23. District Eleven, Spencer

**Bad, late, author! He was hard to write, though…**

**--x**

I'm gorgeous. Really, it's true. Ask anyone. I am, always have been, and always will be: gorgeous. There's not much else to say about me, though a lot else gets said. Jolan says I'm deep. Perah says I'm nice. It doesn't make a huge amount of sense, but I always smile and say that they are, too. It usually works.

Finnick last year? He was gorgeous, too. But not like me. He was 'rugged'. I'm 'handsome'. And the best part is, he won. So, I'm feeling pretty confident, today. Even if I am picked, my looks alone will give me a fighting chance.

When I eventually decide that the time to wake up has come, dad yells for me to come out and eat breakfast. I hate it when people yell, but I was hungry, and- well, I got up anyway. But not even the idea of unlimited fame, fortune, and girls (though I already had the latter, if you know what I mean) could cheer me up.

Depressing. Usually, my little daydream is very uplifting for me.

I went out in the dining/living room, which adjoins to dad's bedroom, and mine. It's okay, I guess. For District Eleven, we're pretty rich. Victor's Village would always be better, though…

There was an average breakfast spread, some fruit preserves and a loaf of bread. Very tasty. Fresh, too. Neither of us say anything, though. I don't think dad likes me very much. I dunno why. Guess he's just jealous… So many people are.

He's working with Thresh's dad, the head of fielding equipment, today, but he hasn't invited me along in six years. He apparently doesn't feel like changing anything today, because he just grunts, grabs a box of blacksmith-y stuff, and walks out the door, leaving me alone.

Too bad. The kid's gonna be nine in a few days. Wish I could say happy birthday. Maybe I'll see him at the reaping?

I hate being in an empty house, but the weather outside isn't the best. I don't want to mess up my hair. I washed it just yesterday, and that took forever. But it's really eerie, all quiet… I gave a shudder. Somehow, I'd have to distract myself. I flipped on the TV, to watch the District Ten reaping, and keep my mind off things.

The girl who gets chosen is real pretty, though her hair is a bit off. I often find myself comparing my looks to those of other people. It's uncommon for me not to come out ahead. 'Dane' or whatever is no exception. Especially when she trips, and her wrist snaps open. Eww.

Then, the boy is called, and he's just average. Really, really, average. Mind-numbingly average. Though he looks a bit creeped out by all the blood, I am too. So that's okay.

Our reaping was getting pretty close. So I go to my room, and put on the black pants and nice-yet-casual button down shirt I laid out a few days ago, and fix my hair. There. I looked nice.

Dad still wasn't home yet, so I just left without him. I'd see him later, and ask where he'd been. Maybe I'd even get a multiple word answer…

I smiled, and walked out the door.

* * *

No one was really in the square. Well, duh. No one wants to be in the square, until the last second. After that, the Peacekeepers start shooting. Generally, not a good thing, right?

It was hard to believe, but even with the few people, I still felt very alone. Obviously, no one I knew closely was present, or there would not have been that feeling. Yet another convincing reason to be a victor. I'd never have to be alone. Wonderful.

I sat, and smoothed my hair a bit. The wind was really picking up, and looking like a savage for the camera is just… Eww. No. Don't go there.

It took a while for everyone to get their, but I felt less lonely with Mansi, Perah, and Jolan sitting beside me. Sawyer saw me and winked, but didn't sit down. Apparantly Derry is enough for him. They're getting engaged next year, or so he says. Idiot. Why not enjoy life while you can?

Anyways, the Mayor said a bunch of stuff, but I had my arm around Perah, so I wasn't really paying attention. Sweet girl, Perah…

Then our escort comes up, but she's too fake to be pretty. She calls for '_Anona Semanalle_!' to come up. Anona's about average, but has very nice hair. Shame, she doesn't really look like a winner, but our last tribute was a thirteen.

The escort reaches into the next bowl.

"_Spencer Ferron_!"

Well, that sucks. I kiss Perah, Mansi, and Jolan, then flash a smile at the crowd as I walk up. Sawyer looks a bit sad, but I shoot him a thumbs up. This is… Okay. I sort of even wanted to go. A bit.

I joined Anona on the stage. She was obviously staring at me. I have that effect on people. To humor her, I grinned like I hadn't just caught her, and looked at the floor. She blushed, but I don't think she realized it.

These games are going to be more fun than I thought.

* * *

Anona doesn't have any visitors, poor girl. I, however, had to tell the Peace keepers which three I wanted to let in. That was easy. Sawyer, Perah, and Jolan. Mansi's probably already moved on, and my dad… Well, I doubt he's out there anyway.

First comes Sawyer. He's my best friend, and has been, through my mom's death in Second Year. He's my only friend who's a guy. The rest hate me.

"I'm so sorry you got picked, Spence," he says, upon entering the room.

"Oh, don't be. It'll be fun!" I say, though I've seen enough of the Hunger Games to know that it won't be like that all the time. Just the first part, and the last part, where I win.

"I don't know if you'll die. If you do, goodbye in advance, buddy."

Is he trying to comfort me? It's not working. At all. If anything, it's reinforced my doubts. But I'll be fine.

"Don't be like that, Sawyer. You know I'll be fine."

He just nods, shakes my hand, and leaves as the Peacekeeper escorts him out.

Then, Perah comes in, and she's got really wet eyes, though she isn't crying. Thank goodness. I hate it when girls cry.

"Promise you'll come back?"

I hug her close, and pat her back.

"Yes, Perah. I promise. And I'll live in a grand house, maybe with you when we're older. Everyone will be proud of me, and you'll never have to work."

Then the Peacekeeper comes for her, too.

"Don't take anything I say in the Games to heart- it's all so I can come home to you," I whisper, as she leaves. She looks so happy.

Finally, Jolan runs in and flings herself into my arms.

"Perah just walked out crying. What did you say?"

She's a bit more to-the-point than the other girls, so I respond quickly.

"I told her I could never be with her, because I love you. But don't let her know I told. I tried to let her down easy."

Jolan squeezes me tight.

"I feel the same way, Spencer! Come back, as soon as you can!"

I tell her I will, and she leaves. But out the door, I can hear Mansi screaming.

"Let me _in_! I don't care how many visitors there are, I need to see him! Let _go_ of me, you two-faced Peacekeeper scum! Let me _in_!"

I hear her beating at the door, and my heart goes out to her, knowing what the Peacekeepers will do in order to prevent a 'riot'.

Bracing myself, I try not to listen to the loud _crack_ and the thud as Mansi's body hits the ground outside my door. Poor girl. I feel terrible.

It's the Hunger Games, though. And If I have any chance of getting back in one piece, I'm going to have to get used to death…

I turn away, and walk back into the small room where Anona waits.

_Showtime_.

**--x**

**I… Can't believe how evil I just made him! I guess I was thinking about Spencer Pratt…**

**I also can't believe no one mentioned Rue's cameo in the last chapter.**

**I'm sorry the update took so long… Love y'all!**


	24. District Twelve, Jenae

**Yay District Twelve! Brownie Point to the first person who mentions the special appearance…**

**--x**

My name's Jenae. I don't get what's so hard about that. Jen-ae. God, my parents must have been on something when they named me. That's the only explanation, aside from them being COMPLETE AND UTTER MORONS. I think I hate them.

Anyways, it's sort of obvious why I don't really want to stay in District Twelve. Everyone's named after a fruit, or a flower, or a bread, and people just give me funny looks when I tell them my name. Like, they're trying to remember just what a 'Jenae' is, and then they give up halfway through. Peh. I hate them, too.

I can cover all the people I hate in one word, really: everyone. Except maybe some Capitol people. They have cool names, too. I bet they don't think 'Jenae' is weird, or that 'Jenae' is gonna be a useless housewife, just because she has a name that doesn't _mean_ something. Unfortunately, the only way for me to get to the Capitol is in the Hunger Games.

And I know what you're thinking. _Jenae, why would you do that? The Hunger Games suck!_ Well, it would be worth it to get out of this hellhole. Besides, I guess there's a fair chance of me winning. I mean, District Twelve's luck can only stay bad for so long, right?

Yeah. Well, the reaping was my only incentive to get up. Reaping day is always a load of fun, though no one really says anything about it. We get to eat good food, and dress up nice, and then we go home, and hope that our tributes win. They never have, while I've been alive, but Haymitch Aber-something won like twenty years before I was born. Wait… I'm fourteen now, and he won the … Something-th… Maybe it was less? Could it have been the year I was born?

Now I was confused, so I just got up, and went out to see if there was any food. Mom was making something with my Tessera grain, which looked like weird flat bread-thingies. Then she was frying them in a pan. Fry-bread? Pan-bread? It didn't sound right.

Oh well. Mom is very classically Seam, with dark, straight, brown hair, grey eyes, and a tinted skin color. She's very pretty. Dad, who isn't up yet, is half and half. He's got light brown hair, pale skin, and grey-blue eyes. I've got his hair, his skin, and mom's eyes, and I like how I look, thank you very much.

Of course, the smell of fry-bread, or whatever, wakes dad up. He seems to really like it, and he eats his really fast. I'm a bit slower; one bite at a time, small bites. It's not the best, but it's better than what she make 364 days of the year… But no offense to her. I know she tries hard. She just doesn't do a very good job.

It's been a lot easier since Fenna moved out with her husband last year, with one less mouth. It's nice, because I've actually put on some weight, and grown a little bit you-know-where. Now I can fit some of Fenna's old dresses, like my favorite, a strapless green one that makes my eyes look a bit greenish, I think. Anyway, that's the one I put on, just before we headed out to the reaping.

The best part was, I didn't care what happened any more, which made whatever happened there good.

Phew.

* * *

Dad took his sweet time getting to the square, but he says it's 'cause of a bad back. Well, my future is just up ahead! Does he really think I care about his back?

We did make it, thank god. Mom didn't really help, stopping whenever dad stopped, and helping him along. I was _so_ freaking embarrassed. What if someone saw me, walking with my parents holding hands like two _old_ people? Kill me now.

I stalked off as soon as I could, and found a seat in the Fourteens. I could deal with my parents later. For now, I had to be social with the right people to keep my reputation afloat. I sat next to Daisy and Susan, two of my good friends.

"Did you hear what Matza did?" Daisy giggled, somehow looking scandalized and pleased at the same time.

"What?" I asked. Matza was only a year younger than us, though I think he had some even younger brothers. He was already displaying a bit of… Odd… behavior, though.

"He pushed his little brother, the one with the 'p' name, into the fence! Lucky it wasn't on." Daisy looked very offended, though nothing had happened to her. I don't see why it mattered. Just brothers being brothers. It wouldn't lead to anything.

Further discussion was put on hold as Mayor Undersee came onstage, reciting his usual speech.

"Points taken off for originality," I whispered to Susan. "He says the same thing every year."

She gestured at the stage, then at a nearby Peacekeeper, and we went back to pretending to listen. Bor-ing.

Finally, our escort, who is getting on in years but still has vibrant pink hair, joined the mayor. She's Eva Trinket, and it's probably her last year before her daughter takes her place. She's really hoping for a promotion; so she can keep working. For that, she'll need a winner. She has about an 18 percent chance, math whiz Grover told everybody. I think he just made something up, though.

She goes to pull out the name; I don't really care who it is, though.

"_Jenae Coniffor_!"

Oh. It is me. Well, that was easy. I walk on stage, and flash a smile. Everything's okay.

Then the next name; "_Hetcher Smith_!"

I don't know him, but he looks like an okay guy, seventeen or eighteen, and obviously a merchant kid. He's all smiley too, and we high-five spontaneously, like we know each other.

Me, that's not really my thing, but I know the crowd will eat it up. And for once, I'm willing to be a ham. Eva even got my name right…

* * *

Susan and Daisy had already waved goodbye, which was enough since we're not very close friends, but my mom and dad came in and hugged me. They were all 'sweet, caring, parent' which would have been sentimental if it wasn't so cliché.

I told them I would come back for them, and generally played along. Duh, they're my parents. We hugged, and shared a treasured family moment. Pfft.

However, I was half-surprised that Fenna was not there to see me off. She must be getting big, what with the baby. When I come back, I'll probably be an aunt. Cool.

I went back with Hetcher, who I think had just one visitor, too, and we made small talk before eventually getting on the train, with Eva, and Haymitch, who already looked drunk.

Classic game scenario, but the winner will be less-than-classic.

Because this year, it's gonna be me.

**--x**

**ONE. MORE. LEFT.**

**I am SO freaking eager to get the intros over with! Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, and a special thanks to my phantom favoriters:**

**Esueno, Leye, vrb18, Rue Her Death, xXkillerxxcupcakesXx, and The Ultimate Person.**

**If you're one of those elusive readers, and I missed you, let me know! Love y'all, and thanks for sticking with me!**


	25. District Twelve, Hetcher

**Last intro! I love you all!**

**--x**

My family? We defy the Capitol. Yeah, you heard it. The Smiths are breaking the law, on-the-run-again convicts. Our transgression remains hidden, and I suppose we could blame my dad for it all. He's the one making us work on reaping day.

I'll repeat that: on reaping day. Flouting the law _again_. Take that, Peacekeepers! We're working and _you_ can't stop us!

Yes, snide comments aside, I woke up on reaping day at 5 a.m., just like always. In fact, a bit earlier. There are tools to be made, bellows to be pumped, and biscuits to be eaten as a (meager) breakfast.

Oh boy, reaping day! Just like every other day of the year, only _more_ depressing! Lucky, lucky Hetcher!

I put on my happy face, and went to work, simultaneously eating a biscuit and selecting the piece of metal for the pickaxe I was supposed to be working on. And smiling, but I always do that. No matter what. I've found it rather helpful in most situations.

The biscuit was finished, and I went to work on the pick. Gerry, my older sister, was working the bellows, and I hammered out the points on the anvil. Natch and Tige were working the other forge, making something bigger. I didn't recognize it yet, and looking away had just earned me a slightly burnt hand. Gerry laughed, but when we finished, she went to find some cool water for the burn.

She's the most unfortunately named of us; mom always wanted to name her first child 'Geranium' and nothing dad said could change her mind. Tige and I are twins, and dad just wanted to get the naming over with. Poor Natch; no one was expecting them to have a third, and mom died having him. Dad named him, but at least it's an easy name to write.

Obviously, Gerry and I were done first. It looked like Natch and Tige were actually doing something difficult. Dad had even bothered to get out of his chair and 'oversee' their progress. Moron. But you didn't hear me say that.

I talked with Gerry for a bit, before dad let us go get ready for the reaping. We took turns washing our arms and faces in the sink, and put on some nicer clothes. Tige came next, then Natch.

Together, we all walked to the square, dad having told us to 'go without him, he'll catch up.' Suit yourself.

Just so long as none of us get picked.

* * *

I've always been closest to Gerry, but we went our separate ways at the square. It's her last year, but I have one more to go, along with Tige. Natch has three, so we all have Tessarae. It isn't the most, though, so I figure that despite our age, we're about average.

Tige and I sat together, which was sort of nice. I mean, most people don't have a twin, or family their age, so it was a comfort. Even though we don't agree on lots of things. She actually likes 'smithing' for one, and dad favors her a lot. She just enjoys the attention. Can't say I blame her.

She, however, doesn't like me, so though there is a sense of family, sitting there in the Seventeens, it's a slightly hostile one. We both know it's a 'necessity' to stick together, but we don't have to embrace it. I smile anyway.

Undersee comes out, and makes his speech, which is, if I remember, exactly the same. What does this guy do in his spare time? Obviously, he doesn't _work _like the rest of us. Oh, never. Might mess up little Madge's hair.

I rolled my eyes, and Tige stuck an elbow in my ribs. Eva was coming on, and the Mayor was actually looking at the crowd now.

Our escort was wearing her usual wig, but looking remarkably older than usual. It had been ages since anyone here had won. Unlike most escorts, she had been with us for over thirty years, because no one wanted the job. I heard her daughter was taking over next year. Hopefully, she wouldn't wear the same wig.

Eva went to pick out the girls' name, and I held my breath. _Not Gerry not Gerry not Gerry… Or Tige._

"_Jenae Coniffor_!"

Whew.

A girl from the Fourteens walks up, looking a bit deluded. Like everyone else who smiled at the reaping. Maybe they think it's the best strategy, or something? Or maybe they're complete and utter idiots? Most likely the last one. I grinned a bit wider.

Boys' turn. Eva click-clicks over in these tiny heels that can't possibly fit. It's causing me a lot of second-hand discomfort to see her teetering in such high shoes. And she's old enough to be my mother.

"_Hetcher Smith_!"

No freaking way. I did NOT just get called. I was home free, nearly! No way, no how. But Tige is practically beating my ribs into a pulp with her elbow, so I stand up, still smiling. I'm doing it too! It's so easy to smile, pretending this _isn't happening_. Because it isn't.

Jenae is up there on stage, looking fake and care-free, when I take it a step further and high-five her. She looks a bit stunned for a second, which I bet she actually is, then slips back into a wide grin.

We both stand there, smiling, as Eva finishes up, and leads us away. But not before tripping into a little Seam girl, who looks entirely bemused at the bird like escort who landed at her feet. Her dad pulls her away, and hugs her tight.

My stupid dad won't even come check on me, I bet. In fact, I have no doubt he's betting against his 'useless son' right now.

Jerk.

* * *

I end up stuck in a tiny room with Jenae, and two really horrid chairs. I've already gotten a splinter. Great start to the games, Hetcher. Why not just bleed to death now, and get it over with?

Obviously, because someone would have to take my place. And I'd be dead anyway. Better to accept it than to freak out and get someone else killed. Or isn't that the goal? I hate this. Jenae isn't looking quite as falsely happy as she did earlier. Probably, she's accepting it like I am.

Maybe, if two strong Eighteens had been chosen instead, District Twelve _might _have a ghost of a chance. But Jenae? I'm beginning to wonder if she actually wasn't faking being happy to be chosen. If she is, there's nothing anyone can do for her. That's the career's job, and Jenae is no career.

I've got two visitors at once, the Peacekeeper informs me. Well, I have _no clue_ who they are. Absolutely _none. _And of course, I am totally _blown over_ when it's Gerry and Natch.

"Hey, Hetcher, don't worry! You'll do way better than the _other_ tribute!"

Gerry is already referring to Jenae in verbal italics. Either she knows her, or… Well, just hates her. I wouldn't be so hesitant to rule out the last one.

Natch is a little more timid. He'd have absolutely no chance, poor thing, despite being fifteen, even older than Jenae.

"Don't die, okay?"

His voice is quivering, and I feel really bad for him. Gerry, Tige, and I often overshadow him, so he doesn't usually get a word in edgewise.

"I'll try, Natch. But you know the Hunger Games. Try not to watch."

For once, Gerry doesn't interrupt and let us know exactly how bad the situation is. I prefer it this way. My last three minutes with my real family.

The moment is shattered when a Peacekeeper ushers them away, with a sad glance at me. I think he feels bad. I don't feel bad for him, though. He's Capitol, obviously.

He deserves to feel bad.

I don't, though.

But if the last few Hunger Games have been any indication, it's me who's going to end up hurting.

**--x**

**YESSSSSS!**

**Next chapter will be a recap by the lovely Bell, and one of her coworkers. Then… The games!**

**Hope y'all are as excited as I am!**


	26. Capitol, Harold Raymond

**The Games begin next chapter! Good luck!**

**--x**

All was not lost. Bell's disastrous interview had not lost her job, only resulted in a demotion. After all, the interviewers were expected to keep a certain level of control over the interviewees, and Bell had failed to do that. Luckily, she had pulled a few strings, and managed to stay in the Hunger Games coverage department.

Any job that kept her in surgical operations and toxin-laced makeup was a good job, in her book. Not that Bell had ever read a book. Her mom used to read them, though.

Bell contemplated all of this during her short walk to the new executive's office. Harold was not her favorite person by any means, but she could work with him. Ish.

"Y'come with my script, Bell?" was her greeting as she clipped stiffly into the room that was once her office.

"Yes, Harold. I'd appreciate it if you were more… Formal about addressing me," Bell replied, narrowing her eyes imperceptibly.

He roared with laughter, flipping around in his large rolling chair. "Bell, Bell, when will you learn? If you had been a bit less formal, you might still have this job."

"Please, _Mr. Raymond_, we're on in five."

Harold nodded, and pulled himself out of his chair. No small feat, considering its height. The two walked side by side to thee film studio, where Bell touched up her makeup, and Harold set up his notes. Silently; Bell was nearing an eruption (And perhaps, sexism charges).

The camera crew was already set up, and testing out there new equipment. This was an important broadcast; the recap held the night before the games began. Malfunctions would be blamed on them, and blame _often_ resulted in death.

"You're on, Bell, in five… Four… Three… Two… One…"

Lights flashed on, and Bell looked up from her 'desk', smiling brightly. All animosity was immediately forgotten in front of the cameras.

"Hello, Panem! We sure hope you are as excited as we are here at TGL News! The Hunger Games begin tomorrow. Here's Harold Raymond, with a recap of the events so far."

The cameras switched to Harold, and Bell powdered her nose, watching.

"Thanks, Bell! I'm Harold Raymond, and have we got a recap for you tonight! Let's start with the chariot rides, which were seriously _wow_ this year!"

The screen behind him flashed to life, and the Panem anthem could be heard. Harold put his hand over his heart, as did Bell. It was the custom, though tributes never seemed to do it.

A bright number one was illuminated, and one chariot, with white horses, began its' circle. The on-screen crowd went insane, as the two tributes inside of the chariot, decked out in _very_ flimsy outfits with diamond-like sheen, rode into view.

"Paris Stetson, and Royce Emelin, two strong contenders this year, did well with the crowd," said Harold. "But then again," he said, winking, "District One always does."

Next, a number two flashed. A chariot, drawn by _huge _black horses, sped rapidly onscreen. The tributes were wearing skimpy red-stained doctor's uniforms, and the girl kicked the boy halfway through, causing him to double over in pain. Thankfully, a fight was averted by his not striking back.

"Kalika Hope and Soren Kailash, two more _very _strong opponents. You'll have to watch out for that girl, Soren!" Harold chuckled.

A number three quickly followed, chariot drawn by smaller black horses. The two tributes were dressed in a metallic dress and pantsuit, that shimmered quite becomingly.

"Lecia Smithfeld and Vance Malloy! Both smart, agile, and flexible, according to the Gamemakers."

They passed, and a number four brightened the screen. White horses with manes and tails that appeared to be painted shimmery green drew the chariot, with the tributes dressed in a suit and long dress that were sea foam green, and seaweed.

"Maren Ericsson and Actassi Peixoto! Actassi is one of the smallest District Fours in quite a while, but he is _working_ that seaweed!" joked Harold.

Following the number five, a chariot with chestnut brown draft horses rode into view, moving slightly slower than the others due to their great size. The tributes were wearing tiny straw hats, and tiny pieces of red-checkered cloth that barely qualified as 'clothes'.

"Dell Brandstone and Bond Goodman! I just _love_ those outfits, don't you, Bell?"

Bell raised her eyebrows, but once the camera was on her, she replied "I sure do, Harold!"

They were interrupted by a flashing six, as two dark brown horses dragged the tributes from six, dressed in strange glassy outfits with neon-dyed hair, onto the field. The boy in particular looked decidedly unhappy with the arrangement.

"Esther Jaffe and Franz Desmond! Both quite capable, and much better at hiding their animosity than District Two, eh?"

Next came a number seven, and with it a chariot drawn by grey horses. Though you couldn't tell genders by the huge tree costumes the tributes were wearing, one was obviously smaller than the other.

"Glade Acacia, and Carden Chaney! Trees, again. Where is their stylist getting this?"

Shortly afterwards, an eight was illuminated. Two small, white horses drew the tributes onscreen, who were dressed in a minidress and a dapper suit, covered in loose black-and-white threads.

"Twyla Braughn and Sherman Whitmeyer! They look so happy… And what fantastic costumes!"

A nine was next; The horses were brown, and wearing fake antlers, and the tributes they drew had on a patchwork of animal skins. Both were holding oversized fake spears, and the girl had an animal-print cast on her wrist.

"Diane Glenn and Wilder Smyk! Despite a pre-game injury, the two made quite a stir with the Gamemakers!"

Then a number ten flashed, directing attention to the next chariot. It was drawn by horses rubbed thoroughly with gold shimmer, and the tributes it carried were decked in similar knit gold outfits, that upon closer inspection, were made out of tiny numbers.

"Hypatia Leanodas and Antiphon Marinus! I think I see a stylist with the potential for a promotion; we're talking to her after the chariots. Both tributes are very smart, this year!"

Seconds afterword came a number eleven. It was accompanied by two pale brown horses, who pulled a chariot housing tributes dressed in revealing outfits that looked to be made out of straw.

"Anona Semanalle and Spencer Ferron! District Eleven has some competitors this year, according to the Gamemakers!"

Finally, a large twelve signified that the chariot rides were drawing to a close. Two coal-black horses drew the District Twelve tributes, who probably would have been beet red with embarrassment if any skin was showing; they were completely naked, and covered in coal dust.

"Erm… Jenae Connifor and Hetcher Smith! I can't help but feel bad for them, but they're looking like some competition this year!"

Harold chuckled nervously, trying to avert his eyes for the remainder of the rides. Some stylist was getting fired… The rides came to a close, and once the chariots were gone, and the crowds were quiet, Harold faced the camera again.

"Yes, those were some… Memorable… Chariot rides! Well, here for you, we have one of the new stylists, Ally Maraschino, the District Ten stylist!"

A pretty blonde woman with very bright turquoise tattoos walked on set, and took a seat a few feet away from Harold. She smiled brightly.

"It's _soo_ nice to be here, Harold! I've been watching TGL forever!"

Harold smiled back. "It's great to have you here, Ally. Congratulations on the great entrance into the world of style! Sorry folks, we're limiting the time spent on interviews since Bell's little _mishap_."

The camera, thankfully, stayed with Ally and Harold. Bell flushed deeply. He had no right!

Ally laughed. "Mistakes happen, Harold."

"Well, anyway, I've got a few questions for you! How long have you been designing?"

"Oh, since I can remember. I've always loved the color gold, and netting and mesh are my favorite media," replied Ally.

"Do you have any big goals as a designer?"

"Yes, of course! My dream is to work with District Four. I only wish I could have done it sooner; I drew up the _best_ design for Finnick. Last year, he would have done even better with me," Ally answered, looking a bit dreamy.

"Someone's got a crush, eh? Well, where do you see yourself, in the future?"

Ally blushed a bit, and nodded. "I want to get to District Four by the quarter quell. I'm so excited to work my way up, though! And," she added, "The pay is _fantastic_."

"Thank you so much for coming on the show, Ally! Good luck, and keep designing!"

"You're welcome, Harold. Thanks for having me here!"

With that, Ally exited the set, clipping away in tiny aqua heels.

"That's all on the chariot rides, everyone! Stay with us on TGL, we'll be right back!"

"Welcome back to TGL's recap of the games. I'm Bell Voyeur, and here's Harold Raymond with the training!" chirped Bell.

"Thanks, Bell," said Harold. "Now, on with the recap! Here's a little compilation of moments from training you _don't_ want to miss.

The screen once again flipped on, displaying an image of the training center. The stations were all set up, and the tributes were let in. Several of them, mostly from One, Two, and Four, seemed to know where to go, but the rest moved haphazardly.

The camera settled first on the spear-throwing station, where Royce was in his element, throwing spear after spear into the dummy, while the trainer praised his aim. He basked in the complements, clearly very happy.

The two other tributes there, Actassi from Four, and Anona from Eleven, were less successful. Actassi made a lucky throw, but broke the spear while trying to remove it from the dummy, incurring the trainer's wrath. Anona was missing just by inches, but she couldn't seem to hit the dummy.

Quickly, the camera swiveled to the hand to hand combat station, where Kalika from Two was sparring with one of the provided avoxes. She was laughing.

"Get me three more!" she yelled at one of the trainers, and continued to land blows about her partner's head and shoulders.

Maren was watching tentatively, flinching as Kalika brutally decimated everything thrown at her, before leaving the station for the more popular swordplay station. The camera followed her.

Lecia, Soren, Franz, and Sherman were going at it with a bunch of dummies. Lecia had a tiny knife, but continued to slash. Franz and Sherman were of equal skill, and seemed to be almost enjoying themselves. Soren seemed to have gotten into a groove, and was destroying his dummy.

Maren tried to join Lecia, but ended up with her own dummy, trying to adjust to the fact that a sword had a different heft to it then a club.

The camera turned again, to the knot-tying station, where Hypatia and Carden were doing more talking than tying, much to the attendant's dismay.

There was very little to see, so the camera switched to edible plants, where Esther sat with Wilder and Twyla. Wilder and Esther seemed to actually have some idea of how to tell them apart, but Twyla reached for a berry to put in her mouth.

"Stop!" screeched Esther, knocking it out of her hand.

"But I'm _hungry_," Twyla pouted.

"You _idiot_, that's nightlock! You'd be dead before you even knew you had swallowed them!"

"Oh," said Twyla, dropping her hand. "You don't have to be so, like, mean about it."

The camera switched to the next station, where Paris, of District One, was hitting a bulls-eye over and over. Spencer was at the next target, trying to hold the knife correctly, but Jenae was watching Paris with an open mouth. Vance was still selecting his knife.

Paris' throwing grew monotonous, so the camera switched to the gymnastics center. Dell was the only one there, and the trainer seemed like he was trying not to kill the girl. She had no clue how to jump, or flip. It was unclear what she was doing.

The last station was archery, where Diane seemed to have somewhat recovered from her injury, though her skills with a left-handed bow left a lot to be desired. Hetcher didn't seem to quite get it, though he was beginning to consistently hi the target. Glade would have been okay, if she had known how to aim, which she didn't. She had just hit the trainer in the foot, and he was being escorted out, to general amusement.

To finish, the camera cut to all the tributes eating lunch. It was already easy to tell alliances were forming.

The clip froze, and Harold stood up.

"Before we start the interviews, TGL has something special for you. We've spoken with all the mentors, and though some were a bit sketchy, we have," he paused dramatically, before continuing, "The pre-game alliances! We'll start with the biggest; Paris Stetson, Royce Emelin, Kalika Hope, Soren Kailash, Maren Ericsson, and Bond Goodman!"

Everyone in the studio applauded, as was custom.

"Then, we have Spencer Ferron, Jenae Connifor, Sherman Whitmeyer, and Twyla Braughn!"

More applause was offered.

"Next, Franz Desmond, Esther Jaffe, Carden Chaney, and Hypatia Leanodas!"

They received a little more applause than the previous group. Twyla and Jenae were by no means favorites.

"Also allied are Anona Semanalle, Diane Glenn, and Hetcher Smith!"

About the same amount of applause was issued.

"The rest of the tributes will be entering the Hunger Games… Alone. Good luck to them all, and we'll be back with the training scores and interviews!"

"Thanks for sticking with us at TGL, everyone! It's the moment you've been waiting for; our in-depth recap of the interviews! Harold Raymond will be covering them!"

The camera swiveled to shoot Harold, who smiled broadly at it.

"It's me, Harold Raymond. Wo-o-ow, the interviews this year were just stunning. That's all we at TGL can say, really. For those of you who weren't paying attention, here are the training scores."

Behind him, the screen lit up again, showing a large list of scores.

Paris Stetson: 9

Royce Emelin: 10

Kalika Hope: 11

Soren Kailash: 8

Lecia Smithfeld: 4

Vance Malloy: 5

Maren Ericsson: 9

Actassi Peixoto: 7

Dell Brandstone: 8

Bond Goodman: 9

Esther Jaffe: 7

Franz Desmond: 7

Glade Acacia: 2

Carden Chaney: 5

Twyla Braughn: 1

Sherman Whitmeyer: 6

Diane Glenn: 9

Wilder Smyk: 7

Hypatia Leanodas: 5

Antiphon Marinus: 4

Anona Semanalle: 6

Spencer Ferron: 3

Jenae Coniffor: 4

Hetcher Smith: 7

"We have an interesting set of scores up there, favoring District Two's female, with a surprising score by the tributes of District Five. Districts Seven and Five both total at seven points; we're not sure if that is purposeful, or they are just doomed," said Harold, smiling slightly at the last part.

"However, I suppose you're here for the interviews. Here are several short snippets, to recap."

The screen flashed to life again, this time showing a stage with twenty-five chairs. Caesar Flickerman wore his customary navy blue suit, decorated with tiny white lights. His color was white this year; it rather suited him. The tributes, however, where much more decked out.

Caesar stood up, to speak.

"Welcome, welcome everyone, to the Sixty-Fourth Hunger Games! The tributes on stage here are about to undertake an epic game, that will end in fame and fortune for one of them. Twenty-three, however, will lose. Congratulate them for coming so far!"

The crowd roared; Caesar's speech was short, which got them to the interview faster.

The image cut to Paris walking up to the chair, in a long silver dress set with dark blue jewels.

"So, Paris, how do you intend to win the Hunger Games?"

"By any means necessary," she replied, smiling pearly-white.

As it was a quick clip, it cut to Royce sitting with Caesar, in a silver tuxedo with a blue jewel-encrusted tie, being asked the same question.

"Royce, how do _you_ intend to win the Hunger Games?"

"I think the ten speaks for itself, Caesar. I _intend_ to kill off my competition, and I _intend_ to enjoy it," he answered, looking deathly earnest.

The clips progressed; Kali strode up in a short black dress, with a nurses hat and a white belt.

"Kalika, how do you intend to win the Hunger Games?"

"It's Kali. And I'm going to kill every one of them."

Next came Soren, in a white dress shirt and black slacks, with a red stethoscope slung lazily around his neck.

"Soren, how do you intend to win the Hunger Games?"

"Caesar, I'm going to be behind my girl, Kali, every step of the way. With a large knife."

Lecia was next, in a twinkling white gown, with a metal circlet tiara. She smiled nervously at Caesar.

"Lecia, dear, how do you intend to win the Hunger Games?"

"I… Don't know, Caesar. Sorry."

The scene cut to Vance wearing a scowl, and a steel-like suit with a light-up white undershirt.

"So, Vance, how do you intend to win the Hunger Games?"

"I don't."

Soon, it switched to Maren, in a long white gown almost tie-died with aqua blue, and, of course, a silver crown that appeared to reflect the stylist's penchant for seaweed.

"Maren, how do you intend to win the Hunger Games?"

"Well, I'm going to try my best. I don't want to die, just yet."

Rapidly, the scene changed to Actassi, in a vibrant blue shirt, and white pants, patterned with silver seaweed.

"Actassi, how do you intend to win the Hunger Games?"

"I guess I'll try. But I don't know how far I'll get."

Then came Dell, in a tiny blue jean dress with an overall top, and straw woven into her dull brown hair.

"Dell, how do you intend to win the Hunger Games?"

"As long as everything's clean, it'll come naturally."

The scene cut to Bond, who somehow looked menacing in a red-checkered suit with a blue jean tie.

"So, Bond, how do you intend to win the Hunger Games?"

"Take a good look at this," Bond replied, flexing a huge arm, "And tell me I won't."

Next was Esther, in a color-changing pink mini dress, and a strange glass headpiece, to represent a test tube.

"Esther, how do you intend to win the Hunger Games?"

"Let's just say, I know more about the games than anyone else in the arena."

The screen flashed to Franz, in a similar color-changing jumpsuit and headpiece. He looked rather unhappy about the outfit.

"Franz, how do you intend to win the Hunger Games?

"My sister, Matilda, died last year in the games. I'm winning for her."

Ever-progressing, the clips continued on, to Glade, in a heavy brown dress and a fluffy green headpiece.

"I'm the mayor's daughter. I'm more qualified than anybody else."

Then Carden, in a tiny brown suit with a bark-like pattern, and dark green highlights that washed out his skintone.

"Trees come naturally to me. If there's a forest, my confidence will just _phoom!_"

Next, Twyla, in a long, tight silver dress, almost like a needle, and her hair dyed black.

"My baby'll take care of me, won't you, Sherman?"

Sherman followed, flushed from some of Twyla's remarks, in a suit covered in dangling purple threads.

"I'm here to take care of Twyla, now. And maybe, just maybe, I can get both of us out of there."

Diane was next, in a short, brown leather outfit, and her hair mysteriously straight, tied in a leather thong.

"I'm the huntress. No one is safe."

After her came Wilder, in a typical hunter's outfit, like one might see the men of District Nine wearing on any given day. He didn't look happy about it.

"I'm just here for the food."

Hypatia, in a long, white, robe embossed with golden numbers, and a gold tiara in the shape of a '10', came next.

"My allies and I are part of something bigger. I trust that I will be victorious, if destiny wills it."

She was followed by Antiphon, in a similar white and gold ensemble, though his crown was much bulkier.

"I'm coming home for Ipso. She's expecting me."

The scene changed to Anona, in a short dress made entirely of straw, with a circlet made up entirely of tiny fruit.

"I'm going to go in there, and hopefully not die. That's about all anyone can do."

The image switched to that of Spencer, in a pair of pants completely covered in a thin layer of straw, and a belt fashioned the same way as Anona's crown.

"Winning comes naturally, with the right support," he said, blowing a kiss at the camera. "And sponsors are that support."

It cut to a slightly less embarrassed-looking Jenae, in a long, black dress, and heavy black makeup.

"This year… Is going to be different. I'm going to go into the arena, and everything will go right. I can feel it."

Finally, Hetcher was given a whole shot to walk onstage, slowly, in a coal-black suit, and with streaks of black in his blonde hair.

Caesar smiled at him.

"So, Hetcher, ho do you intend to win the Hunger Games?"

"It's not about _intend_, Caesar. I have Diane and Anona, and I can confidently say, one of us is going to win. I'm going to do my best to make sure that that's me."

The screen went black.

"It looks like this year may be quite a seat-gripper! Of course, The Hunger Games always are. Remember, if you want to sponsor a tribute, send a message to the mentor by the time the games start. There is a list of the costs of the items available. Take it, Bell!"

The camera swiveled from Harold to Bell, who smiled warmly at the camera.

"Remember," said Bell, "You can pick up the list at the mentors' homepage. I wish your tribute of choice the best of luck. This is TGL, saying we hope you enjoy the games…"

For the last part, the entire studio joined in, including the camera people.

"And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!"

**--x**

**I'd love to hear from y'all about something. Should I use a rather complicated system of values, or just limit the gifts to 'reasonable' things?**

**PM me if you have an opinion. Also, my poll will decide who the first chapters' POV will be from.**

**Leave a review with the tribute to sponsor. More than one person can sponsor a tribute, so don't worry about that.**

**If I don't hear from you, I will assume you do not want to participate, which is fine. You may begin sponsoring, or change tributes, at any point during the games, but starting early is encouraged.**

**Happy Hunger Games!**


	27. Alive

**WOOHOO! LET THE GAMES BEGIN!**

**--x**

It's dark. I can hear my heart, and my breath. They sound loud, and very threatening, but they remind me that I am alive. For now.

Ariadne, my stylist emerges from the gloom. I hop, with a little shriek. She startled me, with her pale purple skin and metallic gold hair.

"Cool it, Lecia. You want some water 'fore you go in there?"

I nod, but I can't really talk. I'm terrified about what's going on just six feet above me, but facing the other tributes, without water, would be terrible. She hands me a glass, and I drink it down, hoping it will stay in my stomach.

"You're gonna do good up there, girl. You just gotta think about what matters, and what Wiress said, kay?"

I nod again; I can feel the platform starting to tremble beneath my feet. Think about what matters. Food. Water. Shelter, from whatever is waiting for me. Not letting Colleen watch me die. Wiress told me that I have to try and grab something, because I'm pretty fast, but small, so I'll run out of energy and starve if I don't get some food at the Cornucopia.

"I'm ready, Ariadne. Thanks for everything."

"You're welcome, girl. Don't die. I got some money on you, ya know?"

I close my eyes, as she walks away. The platform begins to rise. I hope I'm nowhere near the girl from Two.

The ceiling opens up, and my platform stops moving. I can smell water, and not salt water, either. Tentatively, I open my eyes.

I can clearly see where the smell of the water came from. I'm on a tiny platform, on a good-sized island, in the middle of a huge lake. The surface is glassy, but I can't see more than two feet into the water. It looks unsafe to drink. Swimming is out of the question; Jen and Indy are terrified of water, so I never took us near the large pond next to the factory. Its water didn't look safe, either, at any rate.

The anthem began to play, and I was still focusing on the terrain. There seemed to be more islands in the distance, and on the opposite shore, there were six small boats. Only six. Each could possibly hold two, maybe three, tributes. Not all of us would make it off the island.

The anthem ended, and Claudius Templesmith's voice boomed out above us, startling me almost as much as Ariadne did.

I tensed as the words began, zeroing in on a little backpack towards the edge of the Cornucopia's mouth. It probably had some food in it.

"Let the Sixty-Fourth Hunger Games… Begin!"

A gong sounded, and I dashed to the Cornucopia, trying to pace and exert myself at the same time. Foot over foot, foot over foot… I was going to make it! The ground was straight, and flat, so there was no chance that I might trip, thank goodness. My sisters wouldn't have to watch me die, just yet.

I was about six feet from the small pack, when a flash of black nearly bowled me over. District Two. The girl. How was she so fast? Straight for the mouth of the Cornucopia.

I reached down to grab the pack, hoping she hadn't noticed me. Not yet.

"What the hell? Where are the weapons?" she yelled.

I stopped, noticing that inside the Cornucopia, there were not, in fact, any weapons. Duh. Just useless stuff, like plastic, and a few jugs of water. Next to my foot, though, there was a little knife. The Gamemakers had inverted it, and put the less valuable thing farther away!

I grabbed the pack, and the knife, and started to sprint towards the boats. The resulting shriek from behind me was enough, alone, to cause me to turn around, and stumble, onto a large sword. A red gash opened in my stomach, and I bit back a similar scream of terror.

Kali had grabbed the District Eight girl by the hair, and in absence of weapons, smashed her face against the side of the Cornucopia. Blood dripped around her head, and when Kali let go, she didn't move.

Her partner, the boy from Eight who was so infatuated with her, grabbed a sword and ran at Kali, who jammed her foot into his stomach, and grabbed the sword, preparing to stab.

I screamed. She turned. It all happened within a second.

She abandoned the boy, Sherman, I think his name was, and ran towards the easier target, me. By now, everyone who had meant to get to the Cornucopia had made it, including the girl from Five, who was trying to fend off Paris, from One. What momentarily distracted me from my own problems was that she was winning, almost lopping Paris' head clean off.

Royce grabbed a spear, though, and in a terrible moment she hung, suspended in the air, a large spear through her neck, before Paris brought her knife down on her head, and she fell.

Kali was smirking, watching me as I stared in horror.

"Thought you could get away, District Three?"

I shrunk back, bleeding from my stomach, clutching my knife.

"Yes- I mean, no," I stammered, trying not to trip.

She raised her sword, which was still clean, and held it up to the light. It shimmered, and she looked quite entranced by it. It was rather pretty…

"I'm not sorry, District Three. I only wish I could have gotten some more, first," she said, gesturing to Royce, who was locked in a fight with Franz.

"Get back!" I screamed, terrified, and suddenly full of adrenaline. I hurled my knife at her, and dashed back to the Cornucopia. It hit her, but bounced of. It had spun in midair, and I had hit her with the wrong end.

Esther was at the Cornucopia, throwing a package of something to Carden. I pushed past her. She looked surprised, but whirled around to see Kali charging after me.

I bit my lip, and kept running, before tipping on a large, black, square of plastic. Was it the end? Kali would catch up to me at any second. I lay back, and hoped it would be over quick. I hoped my sisters would look away.

Nothing happened.

My eyes blinked open, to see Esther stabbing at Kali with a big knife. Kali had lost her sword, but was dodging Esther's attacks very well, still smiling. She grabbed a knife off the ground, looking delighted, and slashed at Esther with it.

Esther jumped back, but was not spared entirely. The blade sliced down her ribcage; if she'd been a millimeter closer, it would have connected with her heart. She dropped to the ground, and I noticed that Franz, her ally, was just watching. He had apparently gotten away from Royce.

Hypatia, from behind him, seemed to have registered what was happening.

"Franz! We have everything we need! Help Esther!"

I started to crawl under the supplies, into the Cornucopia. I looked out, just in time to see Franz meet Kali's stab, which would have killed Esther, with his sword. He looked unhappy about what he was doing, but Franz always looked unhappy.

I heard his grunt and a little _chink_, and from my hiding place, under a large piece of black plastic, I saw he had caught Kali with a small cut to the leg. When she stooped town to grab her injury, and stop the bleeding, he grabbed Esther by the arms, and dragged her to the boats, lifting her into the one where Carden was waiting, with several packages of supplies.

He joined Hypatia, who had a sword and a small bow, and he and Carden began to row, at last escaping the island.

A wet thud to my left alerted me to Glade, slain by Kali, falling onto the edge of my hiding place. Kali laughed, kicked her, and ran off.

Diane had picked up a bow and a sheath of arrows, while Hetcher had managed a large jug of water and a short sword. They were in a boat, gesturing at Anona to hurry and join them. She had a pack, and a light spear, but was parrying Maren, who had a sword.

Anona seemed to be winning, but Maren smashed her spear's hilt with her sword, and knocked her down with the flat of her blade. She looked down at Anona, who seemed much smaller on the ground, closed her eyes, and slashed down, as Anona's head rolled off her body.

Maren promptly threw up, as blood began to trickle out of the body. I sobbed deeply.

Did my sisters think I was dead? Had the Capitol shown my escape into the Cornucopia? Was Lucas alright? I sobbed, tears welling up behind my eyelids. I had to watch, though. I couldn't look away.

Jenae fell with a scream to Kali's spear, which she has ripped the point off of. Diane stood up in the boat, with her bow, aiming an arrow at Maren, which missed by a foot. Paris ran for the source of the projectile, pointing to Diane and Hetcher, who were escaping.

She picked up a knife, and threw it. Its tip embedded in the rowboat. Diane drew back her bowstring again. This time, she didn't miss.

The arrow flew through the air, straight as… Well, an arrow. It found its mark, directly between Paris' eyes. She fell backwards, into Royce, blood beginning to flow from her forehead. She was dead by the time Royce caught her, blue eyes still wide, though slightly glazed over. He closed them with a fingertip, before placing her on the ground.

I'm scared by the look in his eyes. Did he… _Like_ Paris? How could anybody like her that way? She was mean, and cruel, or at least, that's how she was to me. I cried, quietly.

Maybe without the games, she'd still be alive. Of course she would be.

Someone moved, near one of the trees by the plates, and Spencer ran out. Kali quickly dashed towards him, tripping him with her pole.

"Someone thought they could hide, hmm? Well, you gutless-"

"Wait, stop," says Soren. "You got how many? Four? Let me have Spencer. I didn't get anyone."

Kali steps back, almost politely.

"He's all yours."

Soren bent down, holding his sword over Spencer's throat.

"Sorry, Spence. Life sure sucks sometimes, doesn't it?"

He slowly drew the sword across Spencer's neck, just as deep as the windpipe. I had to look away as the horrible gurgles and coughs began… then stopped. I looked up. Spencer was covered in blood, which dripped down the sides of his mouth, and his neck was still bleeding. He had drowned in his own blood.

"Now, everybody," Soren says, addressing Bond, Maren, Kali, and Royce. "We need to check for further threats. Maren, go look at the boat, make sure it's okay to work. Royce, you and Kali gather up the food and weapons. I'll set up camp. Bond… Err, do-"

"Who died and made you king?" says Kali sharply. "There might be more tributes hiding in those trees. Have Maren and Royce look around in there, _you_ go check the boats, and I'll pick up the supplies, and Bond can set up camp."

"Fine." says Soren, rolling his eyes.

Maren and Royce walk into the forest, and I crawl into the back of the Cornucopia, hoping Kali wouldn't look there, due to the lack of anything useful. I wonder why the cannons for the bloodbath haven't gone off yet.

Suddenly, I hear a shout, and Royce drags Actassi out of the small forest. Maren is shouting at Royce, and all I can make out is "Idiot!" "Useful," "Damn," and "Boats!" which doesn't make much sense.

Kali walks over, and Soren asks "What the hell is going on?"

Maren, out of breath, sits for a second, while Royce glares, menacingly, at Actassi.

Finally, Maren speaks.

"Look at the arena. What's going to happen if all the food runs out? Actassi is the only one of us who has any ability to catch fish. Also, if we find the boats and one of them is hurt, I think he and I could repair them. We ought to keep him around. Besides, he got a seven."

Everyone nods, including me, except Royce. I don't think he's having a very good day. Maybe he misses Paris? Eww.

Everything continues as it was, and Kali doesn't check on my hiding place. The sky gets dark, and I can hear the anthem play, though it's muffled by my sheet of plastic.

I can just see the sky as Paris flashes by, then Vance, my district partner. I wonder how he went. I hope it didn't hurt too much. Then Dell, who I saw Paris kill. Then it switches ahead to Seven, where Glade died. Twyla from Eight is next, though somehow her district partner lived. Wilder from Nine, and Antiphon from Ten both make an appearance, and both from Eleven. Then Jenae. The sky goes dark.

Kali knows I'm still alive now. The wound across my stomach aches, but I don't know what to do for it. Then I feel the little pack around my back, and I quietly pull it off. Inside is some dried meat, dried fruit, iodine, a roll of bandages, and a little package of crackers. I dab some iodine on the bandage, like I saw Lucas do when Jen got a cut on her finger, and I roll the bandage around my cut.

It burns. It's all I can do not to scream. But I feel much better after a few seconds, despite still having to bite my lip to keep from whining in agony.

Kali may know that I'm alive, but my sisters do, too. I take a drink from a tiny jug of water, and then fall asleep, smiling.

**--x**

**You are now free to send in your gifts! I got quite a few PMs asking for me to just allow reasonable things, so that's how it will be for now.**

**Tell me what you think! Did any of your favorites die?**


	28. Thread

**I'm writing this chapter differently, with two POVs! Do you like it better like this, or with just one? Let me know!**

**--x**

**Hypatia POV**

I'm beginning to grow concerned about Franz. He found a cave on the third island we've passed, big enough to lie down or stand up in, which is good. Carden and I carried Esther in, even though she protested. The cut on her ribcage still looks nasty, and she won't let us take her shirt off to check.

Franz just sits, staring outside of the cave, even though there are supplies to be sorted, and Esther's wound needs to be tended to, despite what she says.

Perhaps he feels guilty, about not getting to her faster? He won't speak to us, besides one-word replies, and the occasional odd sentence. Yes, I think he does have some issues with his conscience, but I don't know why.

Finally, I stood up. Carden had set up two sleeping bags, which were all we had, and put the packs of supplies and weapons on a little rock next to them. Esther was in one sleeping bag, and Franz was at the mouth of the cave, with his sword.

"We can't just sit around, doing nothing," I said, trying to sound confident.

"What d'you suggest? We seem to be holding up just fine, doing what we are," Franz replied, without even turning his head.

"Esther's asleep. I'll fix up her cut before it becomes infected. Carden can sort the supplies. You can keep staring out of a hole."

"Fine," Franz said, his tone indicating that the subject was closed, and I was not to bother him. I wish dad would do that some times.

Carden rooted through the first package, which was medium sized, and dark green.

"This one's just food," he said, throwing it to the side, before picking up a smaller, red bag.

"What's in that one?" I asked, walking over.

"A package of matches, a little knife, a bottle of some stuff, a roll of bandages, and a white stick with cloth on both ends," he replied.

I took it out of is hands, and walked over to Esther, setting it down beside her.

"Look through the last one. I think this is a survival kit."

He nodded, and walked over to Franz to sort it out. I quietly unzipped the sleeping bag Esther was in, and rolled her shirt up to her cut. It was about half an inch deep, and I could just see her ribs underneath it. Gross. How was she sleeping?

I unrolled about three feet of bandages, leaving only a foot rolled up. Hopefully, we wouldn't have any more injuries. Then, I studied the bottle. Iodine. Huh. It looked a bit weirdly colored, but I spread it on the bandage, hoping it was something to stop the pain. Then, tentatively, I placed the damp bandage on the cut, and quickly rolled it around her torso, tying it tight.

Unfortunately, she sat bolt upright, and screamed. Oops.

"Sorry! Lie down! Come on, sit back," I muttered franticly, pulling the bandage off. She was still breathing very quickly, biting her lip.

"What the heck was that? Where are we?" she said, twisting her head from side to side.

"I was… bandaging your cut. We're in the Hunger Games, in a cave."

She looked down at her chest.

"You tried to bandage that? It needs to be sewn up, first. And there aren't usually any sterile stitching supplies in bags like these."

She pulled her shirt down, winced again, and sat up.

"Franz, how long have we been here?" she called towards him.

"'Bout a day," he answered.

I heard an odd _whump_ from outside the cave, and quickly grabbed the little knife from the pack. Franz dashed out of the cave.

Carden had a slightly bigger knife, and he was standing where Franz had been a few seconds ago.

"Franz?" he called.

"Don't worry," Franz yelled back, "It's a gift from our sponsors!"

Esther looked like she was still thinking over Franz' earlier comment. She was chewing on her bottom lip, staring at the ceiling.

"Hypatia? How many tributes died in the bloodbath?"

I thought it over. In the sky last night-

"Ten," I replied, nodding, "One career, all but one of that idiot alliance, Anona from Eleven, Wilder from Nine, Dell from Five, and Glade from Seven."

She nodded, and resumed thinking, though she was now smiling slightly. I went to see what our gift had been, joining Carden and Franz as they cut open the paper wrapping with Carden's knife. A tiny sewing kit, with white thread and two tiny needles, fell out. I picked it up, before it could get too dirty.

"Esther? Are you ready for me to sew up that wound?"

"What?" she said, distracted from her musings. "We got something?"

"Yeah!" Carden responded, happily. "We got some stuff to stitch up your cut!"

I walked over to her, and bent down over the laceration. It looked about a foot long. We had enough string, if I did it right.

"Carden, why don't you join Franz in keeping watch? I'm going to try to make this work, and I don't need anyone else."

Esther extended a hand, stopping me.

"I do."

Sighing only slightly, I called for Franz to leave Carden in charge, and hold Esther's hand. What I was going to do, without pain medication, would hurt. A lot. I could understand why Esther wanted someone with her, and I, being the source of the pain, could not provide that.

Besides, Franz needs to get over himself. Whatever makes him so distant can't be as bad as being in the Hunger Games, alone, which is what will happen if he doesn't get more involved in keeping our group alive.

He doesn't look happy, like Esther's hand is an eel in his, and he looks away from her face. I don't think she notices.

Finally, I take in a breath, thread the needle, and slowly insert it under her skin. I hope it doesn't hurt, but I can tell from her face and her tightening grip on Franz' hand that it does. I loop the string in slow circles, closing the long cut slowly, and though she almost jerks away as I get close to the end of her ribcage, she is doing an okay job of being still.

I tie a small knot at the end, and lightly saw through the string with my knife. It's the best I can do.

"Now, don't move. Would you like some water?"

She nods quietly, and I hand her a small jug that I grabbed at the Cornucopia. It's a good feeling, to have been able to help her.

Franz seems very awkward, and pulls out of her grip, muttering. I sigh. At least he tried.

Esther sits slightly up against the back of the cave, and breathes slowly, before speaking.

"Has anyone heard a canon, apart from the bloodbath, since I was asleep?"

Carden walks back, after being replaced as guard by Franz.

"No," he answers.

"Then we need to move, as soon as possible. There will be a natural disaster near us, Hetcher and Diane, or the careers within two hours. It's too quiet for the viewers."

Carden and I nod, and begin to pack up the supplies in the little bags.

Finally, Esther gets the whole way up, and helps me roll up the sleeping bag, taking care not to strain her upper body, which must still hurt terribly. Then she walks over to Franz, occasionally wincing slightly.

"What weapons do we have?" she asks.

In reply, he takes off the large black bag he is carrying, and pulls out a small bow and a quiver of arrows, his own short sword, a big knife, two medium sized knives, and a small, well-balanced throwing knife. We did well at the Cornucopia, due to it's inversion, and the fact that we all headed to the outskirts.

She picks up the big knife, and the throwing knife, Franz grabs his sword, Carden takes the two smaller knives, and I get the bow and arrows. We all have weapons we are at least reasonably proficient with.

Then, we check the cave one last time, and head to the boats, which I camouflaged under some large tree branches.

That's when we hear the cannon.

* * *

**Maren POV**

I officially hate Kali. She's been acting just… _Abnormal_ since the bloodbath. I guess I'm glad to be her ally, and not her prey, but she's getting really difficult to be around. Seeing as we're the only girls in the group, I'd have hoped she would turn out to be like Nerine; friendly, though reasonably fierce.

There is nothing even remotely reasonable about Kali.

I ended up setting up camp with Bond, while Actassi followed me like a shadow. It was kinda comforting, to have at least _one _sane person with me. Paris was a corpse in a hovercraft somewhere, Royce _cried_ over that witch, Kali is a total psychopath, Soren is just… Ergh. Bond is as crazy as Kali, but not as smart, or dangerous. Actassi and I are the only sane ones in this camp.

I pitched the only tent, but Kali was the one who took it; no one was brave, or stupid enough to challenge her on something like that, besides Soren. But even he was worn out after that bloodbath. I'm just trying not to think about it, but it's hard.

I killed someone. _Me_. Bet my mom has printed out the screenshot and framed it over her bed. Wouldn't put it past her.

There are five sleeping bags, and Kali has a ton of blankets in her tent, so we all slept pretty comfortably, except for Royce, who was stuck on guard duty. He was whining about Paris all night anyway.

When we woke up the next morning, I was sore as heck after getting used to warm, soft, Capitol, beds. Apparently, none of the boys know how to cook, and with the look Kali shot me when I asked her… Ugh. I was unanimously elected 'cook', which is _exactly_ how I want to be thought of. Joy.

I fried up some apples over a fire Soren made, and put them on toast. Then I poured some water into plastic cups, and handed it out. Actassi actually said 'thanks', and he was the only one who didn't groan at the food. I'm starting to appreciate that kid.

When I went to take Kali her breakfast, she was still in her tent. On my way over, while I was grumbling and such, I tripped over a wire she had strung up in front of the entrance, but despite how much I wanted to, my reflexes kept me from smashing her food all across the tent. I pulled aside the flap, sighed, and walked in, hoping my murderous rage wasn't too obvious.

What was inside the tent, though, surprised me. The blankets were all drawn up against one corner, and Kali, the girl I counted my most feared enemy, was huddled under them.

"Make them leave," she muttered. "Make them go away."

I looked behind me, and saw no one, so I advanced towards her. She pulled out a knife, and pointed it towards me.

"You're not one of them, are you, Maren?"

Shocked, I shook my head.

"No, Kali. I'm on your side. What's wrong?"

"I killed them, but they're coming back. They won't leave! I can't kill them! Why can't I kill them?"

Still stunned, I brushed my hand across her face. She jerked back, but not before I realized she was burning hot.

"Wait," I said. "Let me go get you some special food."

I ran out of the tent, still holding her plate. Searching wildly, I came upon a first aid kit. Perfect. I pulled out some fever syrup, though I felt paranoid to drink some myself, first. Everyone else seemed fine, though Bond was still sleeping, his food untouched. Soren smirked, seeing me so scared looking, before walking over to the Cornucopia to grab some more water.

I sprinkles some of the fever syrup over Kali's food; then added some more, on second thought. Hopefully, it would help her. I'd try to wake Bond up once she ate.

Re-entering the tent, she looked just as bad; her previously perfect mocha skin was suspiciously mottled and flushed, and she had huge bags beneath her eyes.

"Here's you're food, Kali. Don't worry, they can't get you while I'm here."

She looked up gratefully, then slowly ate the apple-toast, occasionally glancing up at me. Luckily, one of the side effects of fever medicine is sleep- she fell backwards seconds after she finished.

I sat with her for a few minutes. Kali looks much less fearsome asleep. Though by no means an angel, she relaxes, and her face is much prettier that way. I can't help but wonder why she is the way she is; it's as if District Two is on some strange medication that causes insanity. Probably, she wouldn't be such a bad person in District Four. Maybe she'd be my friend. Now there's a thought.

I laughed quietly, and left. Bond was still on the ground, while the sun was all the way up in the sky. Though that could just be the Capitol's influence; I hear they have a way to change the weather, the time of day… Anything. It's weird to think about.

Everyone was at least doing something that looked industrious. Actassi and Soren were stocking the boat, so that two of us could go out, hunting for surviving tributes. I shuddered at the thought. I don't want to kill anyone else. I don't want to kill anyone in the first place.

Even Royce was finally doing something… Though 'something' was sharpening his spear, and glaring at the ground as if it had personally offended him. He took Paris' death really hard. I almost feel bad for him.

I walk over to Bond, figuring he's just being lazy.

"Bond! Hey, Bond! Get up!"

He doesn't budge, so I nudge him a bit with my foot.

"C'mon, Bond! Whatever dream you're having can't be _that_ nice."

Apparently, it is, because he still isn't moving. By then, Royce had walked over, and was looking a bit concerned.

"What's going on, Maren?" he asked grasping his spear tightly, as if to fight an invisible enemy.

"Bond won't get up," I replied, poking Bond's forehead experimentally. He was practically on fire, even worse than Kali.

"Royce," I said, stepping back carefully, "Have you ever gotten the fever?"

He nodded.

"Yeah. Why?"

"Good. Move Bond away from the supplies, over by Kali's tent."

He shook his head, and looked at me as if I was crazy, but dragged Bond over. No small feat; Bond's huge.

"Soren! Actassi! Have you ever had the fever?" I called.

Actassi nodded; Soren shook his head.

"Why, fish-girl? Are you sick?" he called back.

"Soren, get away from Bond and Kali. And pray that we have sponsors."

Why? I haven't had it either. And the fever? If it's bad, you'll be dead in a day. Sometimes more, sometimes less. There's nothing to show you have it on the outside, but you go a bit crazy. Nerine had it one year, and it got pretty bad. There's just the mental stuff, the heat, and towards the end, sometimes you start to get black on the tips of your ears.

But that's just one kind.

Suddenly, I'm really, really, freaked out. The Capitol created the fever, as a weapon in the rebellion. It was, considering the District's population, as deadly as the bubonic plague that happened almost two thousand years ago. It mostly affected District Four, District Six, and District Eleven, so those Districts often have some immunity to it.

With a heavy heart, I covered up my mouth and walked over to Bond, flipping him on his back.

His ears had a tinge of black at the edges.

And then the canon fired, and he went limp.

Oh, crap.

**--x**

**Oh, dear. Well, I wasn't planning on that, but the plague thing just sort of happened. I figure the Gamemakers probably infused some of the grass with the plague.**

**Hopefully, it won't get too many people…**


	29. Victory

**This chapter is dedicated to Mel, for pestering me to update, and Maren, who's character just got owned.**

**--x**

**Sherman POV**

I saw it as well as anyone. Twyla's face in the sky, along with Jenae. Spencer, too, though I didn't see him die.

Somewhere deep inside me, I know that Twyla's really dead, and sooner or later, I am, too. But the rest of me has effectively shut that part off from the control center of my brain. _Because she's not dead._ I'm sure of it!

See, when Kali got her, (and I say 'got' loosely) she didn't move. But when the hovercraft scooped her up, her arm moved, like she was waving. She wasn't _really_ leaving me. When I won, she'd be back again! She would! Really. She even talked to me last night, saying that she sacrificed herself so I could win. It was in a dream, of course. But I know how much meaning dreams really have.

I was just barely woken up by a canon. For some reason, though, I stayed in a sort of haze, with all the trees around me wobbling and turning purple. So I lay back again. It was hard to sit up, but everything was sort of spinning into focus.

Maybe I'm still dreaming.

All the rocks around me feel cold, and suddenly, I'm freezing. The Gamemakers must be manipa… Manipia… _Changing_ the weather. I can't remember why I even wanted to use that long word in the first place.

The ground… The air… Everything is cold. But I hold on, and stand up, anyway. I need to figure out where I am, and why everything looks so funny.

I catch my balance, and get a good look at where I am. The Cornucopia is just visible on the next island over, and I can hear voices by it, but they're strange, and garbles. Even worse than the Capitol people. I laugh at that, and have to sit down; I'm laughing so hard. That was really funny!

My clothes are kinda wet, and I wonder what I should do with them. They smell like the lake. I guess I swam over here! Cool. I didn't know I could swim. That's really funny, and I start laughing again.

Suddenly, Twyla's standing behind the pile of rocks where I slept.

"I knew it!"

I sort of crawl over to her, and she makes a face at me. Then she sort of wobbles, like everything else, and turns into Calico.

"Sherman, you disgust me. She never loved you. Just wanted to live. And you couldn't even help her do that."

I recoil back, and she grins, spitefully. Everything swims, in front of my face, and I'm really shocked. That isn't Twyla! Why did they let Calico into the arena?

There's a knife by my foot, and I pull it out of the ground, and drag myself back. Everything is so fuzzy… I just want to kill Calico, for lying about Twyla. And I can, right? I'm in The Hunger Games. I'm allowed to kill anyone I can.

The knife cuts though the air, over and over again, but Calico just turns back into Twyla, who's crying.

"You want to kill me, Sherman? What did I do?"

She melts into a puddle of blood, and I begin to cry. Twyla _is_ dead! I killed her!

I try to reach out, and touch her, one last time. But all that's left is a black puddle, ling in front of me. A reminder of how I failed to take care of her. I hate myself.

Everything is cold, everywhere, and it's all I can do not to kill myself, and end it, right then and there. So I won't have to kill anyone again, just me. And I'm a murderer. I don't count.

I look down at my hands, the hands that killed her. They look ordinary, except for being slick with black blood.

Crying, I force myself to the water, and dip my hands in, thinking to wash her blood off my hands. It's freezing; cold beyond the air, and the ground, but I continue to wash them. My hands start to feel heavy, and for some reason, the tips of my ears go numb.

He water starts to feel nice, but I take my hands out. Nothing has changed. Frantically, I rub them on my shirt, but the gooey, black, blood stays on. And then, suddenly, I'm burning instead.

I jam my hands back into the water, but it's boiling, too. Slowly, I slip into it, hoping for relief, but feeling nothing. Nothing but heat, and pain. I'm in water up to my hips, but I can't even tell.

Obviously, I have to go in deeper. Where it will be cooler. The part of my brain calculating this has forgotten that I have no clue about how to selectively swim, but I'm past caring.

Slowly, I wade in, deeper and deeper, until I have to kick my legs and flail my arms to keep afloat. I don't feel any relief, though. My head must have to go in, too.

Continuing in, I let my head fall bellow water, though my legs and arms are beginning to go numb. It isn't enough, though. And once my ears go under, the tips seem to regain feeling, and catch fire. I bear the pain though, in the hope that it will go away; leaving me in peace, or kill me; getting me back to Twyla. I continue more slowly without the use of my arms and legs, but my body begins to numb, too.

Only my head is exposed, and in seconds, a heavy, blunt object connects with it. For a moment, my vision explodes in orange, and then, I feel a strange sense of calm, and begin to sink. I can't feel anything anymore.

I can only watch as the bubbles trickling from my mouth become smaller and smaller, and then disappear, leaving me alone in the blue embrace of the water, as my eyes close.

I see Twyla again. She smiles, grasps my hand, and leads me into the darkness.

Finally, I'm happy again.

I die, smiling.

**

* * *

**

**Soren POV**

I don't really understand what fish-girl is spazzing about. Yeah, yeah, there's some weird plague on the island, and we're all gonna die. Tell me something I don't know.

Actassi is actually pretty decent company, considering my alternatives. There's fever-stricken Psycho, that sanity-challenged fish-girl, and Royce, who still hasn't gotten over Paris. I mean, they only knew each other for two weeks. And then, of course, there're Paris and Bond, who are dead. That would be pretty fucking awkward.

We finished loading up the boats, with two flashlights, two days worth of supplies for two people, and two blankets. Obviously, it was pretty quiet; someone had just died, even though neither of us liked him.

Yeah, so fish-girl was practically having a conniption fit over not being vaccinated, and it was kind of funny. Plus, I was getting tired, so I just sort of sat there, with Actassi. Watching her flip out. Good times.

I sort-of wondered what was up with Kali, who hadn't come out of her tent all day, but I was hoping for 'dead'. I know it's a long shot, but she scares the hell out of me.

I was contemplating such as this, when Actassi elbowed me in the side. That's weird. He's normally a pretty meek little guy, though I suppose I'm very intimidating.

"What is it?" I said, not wanting to snap at him and scare him to death.

He pointed at a disturbance in the water; someone was floundering in a medium-depth part of the lake, near the closest island. I think it was the District Eight guy. Sh- something. It looked like he was drowning. I wondered how (and why) he had gone out there in the first place.

"He looks so helpless," Actassi said, quietly.

Well, I can't aim for shit, so I shook my head.

"There's nothing we can do."

Apparently, Actassi had a different idea. He picked up a heavy spear, which we were putting in the boat for Royce, hefted it, and threw it, almost gracefully, into the water. It hit its mark. District Eight stopped struggling, and sank, slowly, into the water.

A cannon fired a few seconds later, bringing the day's death total up to two.

I was a bit more concerned, though, with Actassi. There I was, thinking the kid couldn't throw.

"Nice one," I said.

He shook his head, and covered his eyes. Crying? What the hell?

I suppose he did it at the reaping, too, so I shouldn't be so surprised. But then I heard fish-girl, yelling for me to come over.

"Soren," she said, holding up a little silver parcel, "I checked in here. We've got one inoculation for the fever, but neither of us are immune."

"So," I replied, "give it to me."

That's the logical choice, right? I mean, we learned in the ninth grade that District Four, and a few others, are sometimes naturally immune to the fever. District Two is not included on that list. Hence, the Psycho in the tent.

She made a face at me.

"I was _hoping_ you had some semblance of chivalry."

Actassi suddenly called to us, quietly, "Hey, umm… Maren?"

"Not now, Actassi," she replied, still glaring at me.

"Chivalry is dead, fish-girl, and I will be, too, if I don't get that shot," I shot back.

I made a grab for the parcel, but fish-girl seems to have good reflexes, and a few more inches of height. She held it above her head, looking slightly crazy. I think the last day has not been very good for her; the dark circles under her eyes look pretty bad, not like I care.

However, a voice from the direction of the lake mad us both freeze.

"You'll be giving that to me," said Hetcher, standing in a boat, with a spear pointed at us, and a semi-conscious Diane over his left shoulder.

I raised my hands in the air, and so did Maren, both of us turning towards him slowly. What had happened to Actassi?

"Neither of you move," Hetcher said, stepping down from the boat, still holding the spear, and Diane.

He seems to be aiming at her, as she is holding the parcel, so I take the opportunity to whip my eyes around, trying to assess our chances of killing him, and staying alive. Suddenly, I see Actassi, under a pile of supplies, half-hidden.

I think fish-girl saw him, too, but I can't be sure. Hetcher suddenly pointed his pear at me.

"Stay still! I just need the medicine!"

He gestures at the package we had been fighting over, indicating that we should give it to him. Damn it, we're screwed.

Unfortunately, I have a stubborn streak several miles wide. Unfortunately for him.

"What if we don't give a damn what you want? The medicine is ours! And if your little _girlfriend_ there dies, it's none of our concern. In case you hadn't noticed, she killed one of our allies!"

District Twelve raises some real idiots. He turns slightly red, and then heaves the spear; his only weapon, at me. My vision explodes for a second, and I feel blood on my shin, flowing down over my foot. But I'd rather have this moron kill me than the plague.

Fish-girl seemed moved to action. She dashes up, tossing the package to me, and grabs a sword, while Hetcher jumps back into the boat, realizing he can't fight us with Diane over one shoulder. Actassi still hasn't gotten up. I bet he's still angsting over killing District Eight.

Royce heard what's going on, _finally_, and came barreling down from the Cornucopia, seeing Paris' killers escaping, albeit empty-handed. Hetcher was damn good at rowing, though Diane was dead weight.

I ripped open the paper, and jam the shot into my shoulder. Perfect timing. Fish-girl was walking back, looking somewhere between angry and bemused.

"What the hell was that?" she asked, as if it was my fault that the two had chosen an inopportune moment to begin attacking.

"A perfect distraction," I replied cheerily, despite the bloody wound on my lower leg, waving the empty syringe in front of her face. Ha.

"Victory is mine, fish-girl. Have fun dying of the fever!"

**--x**

**Sorry for the weird Sherman POV, he had a fever, so it was on purpose.**

**Also, apologies for my lateness. My computer crashed, and I had to re-write.**


	30. Hypochondria

**There are a load of different POVs in this chapter (four, actually), but I felt that it was necessary for the story.**

**Let me know if you like this, or prefer just one or two!**

**--x**

**Hetcher POV**

That went horribly. I'll be the first to say, I didn't think my plan would work. Even if Diane's wrist _hadn't_ snapped again, and she _hadn't_ caught some mysterious fever, storming the career's and demanding life-or-death supplies rarely works. We were just worse off, because now we had only one sword and one bow, and those were back at our little camp.

But it could be raining, right?

On the way back, I was rowing like a demon, and Diane was sort of feebly stirring in the bottom of the boat. Our cave was still a long ways away, and there was no way we were going to make it back before dark. You don't want to be out after dark in this arena.

When we where back at the career camp, I had noticed that they seemed to be preparing a boat to row out and attack the other tributes. I was feeling pretty sorry for the group with the two Twelves; that District Two girl is a real psychopath. Though I didn't see her back at that camp. Probably she was out on another boat, or something.

The thought of her chasing after us, with Diane in her present feverish state, and me unarmed, made me row faster. Talk about freaky.

We came up beside an island with a well-disguised cave, one that we had noted on our way out after the bloodbath. It looked like an okay sort of place to stay the night, so I picked Diane off the floor of the boat, and hung her over my shoulder. My dad may be a first-class jerk, but I was feeling sort of grateful for all the hours spent lifting things much heavier than Diane.

I left our boat next to some piled up foliage, hoping it didn't look too obvious, and started walking towards the mouth of the cave. For some reason, it felt different than the last time we had been here. I hoped the Gamemakers hadn't concocted some surprise that would be waiting inside; the plague was bad enough, and I was pretty sure that I would get it soon enough.

Perhaps I was resistant, but no good luck lasts very long in the Hunger Games.

* * *

**Carden POV**

There's something outside. I'm sure of it. We just switched camps, and already the Gamemakers found us? I know I don't really understand it, but that still doesn't seem fair. Besides, I don't feel very good right now.

Esther and Franz must hear it, too, because they both grab their weapons, and move to the mouth of the cave. They even go so far as to stop arguing. Whatever is going on must be really serious.

I wish I could help, but all my skill comes from understanding plants and trees, and there's not much of that in a cave. Hypatia grabs her bow, and I, my knife, and we wait in the shadows in the back. We worked it all out yesterday; Esther and Franz are the primary defense, the second Hypatia sees one of them fall, she starts shooting, and if they get as far as her, I protect Hypatia as best I can with my knives.

We're all very tense, just listening as whatever the intruder is gets closer, fast. It's scary, not being able to do anything. But I tell myself that I am protecting Hypatia, which is important, because she is protecting Franz and Esther, who are protecting us.

It all makes perfect sense; we're all connected in such a way.

Honestly, I'd be okay with it if my head didn't feel so weird. How am I supposed to do my job when everything seems to be doubling?

I shook my head, and my vision cleared up. It's most likely nothing.

There's a _snap_ outside the cave, and we all jump, just a little. Everyone is on-edge, just a bit. I wanted to laugh, to break the ice, but it caught in my throat. Maybe whatever was out there hadn't noticed us yet.

"If you're out there, come here!" yelled Franz, though I don't see how that would encourage _me_.

Suddenly, Hetcher, the District Twelve guy, walked in with his hands up, and the District Nine girl over his shoulder. She doesn't look too good.

"She's sick, and she broke her wrist again. All we need is a place to stay," he said, pleadingly.

Franz looked to Esther, raising an eyebrow, and she turned back to the two in front of us. It was beginning to rain.

"No," she said, "None of us are sick yet. Find somewhere else."

Hetcher peered into the cave, looking very worn-out and muddy. He seemed to have the air of desperation that mice often do before a hawk gets them.

"How many people do you have?"

"None of your business," Franz snarled in reply, poking Hetcher back with his sword.

"Are the Twelves still alive?" he asked.

Esther nodded, and in the darkness, so did Hypatia and I. We were alive, weren't we? Why wouldn't we be? I felt dizzy again, and I sat down.

"Alright," Hetcher said, resignedly. "Can we at least stay on this island?"

Franz was about to say something, but stopped, looking to Esther. She looked really sad.

"I'm sorry, Hetcher, but if Diane really does have the fever, the kids haven't been vaccinated like Franz and I. And this could be a trap, but my brain isn't working right… It's safest just to say no. I'm really, really, sorry."

Franz nodded, and Hetcher looked dejected. He walked off, disappearing into the darkness, but no one relaxed until hearing the gentle _swish, swish_ of paddles in the water.

Hypatia was the first to put down her weapon.

"Okay," she said, "I don't recall reading about any fevers. Which one are you referring to?"

Surprisingly, it was Franz who sat down to explain, while Esther sharpened her knives on a rock. Usually, it's the other way around.

"The fever is a biological weapon that the Capitol used during the rebellion. It creates an effect similar to Sepsis, though the fever itself is the primary symptom, and the delirium is more pronounced. It has a very short incubation time, though sometimes, in instances where very little of the bacteria is absorbed, it won't kill you."

Esther looked impressed.

"You remember all of that from Fortner's lecture?"

"Yeah. It was pretty much the only interesting lesson we ever had."

I raised my hand, which is pretty much reflexive for me, thanks to school. Franz smirked.

"Yes… The gentleman in the back! Carden."

"Umm… What are the symptoms?"

Esther closed her eyes, thinking back to whenever she had learned about the fever.

"Directly from the fever… Chills and light-headedness. Also delirium, obviously, and hyperventilation, an increased heart rate, and black towards the tips of the ears, and sometimes fingers, if you're going to die."

I felt sick to my stomach. Come to think of it, it _was_ cold in here. And I was suddenly much dizzier. Did I have the fever? I put a hand over my heart, but I don't know how fast it normally is, so I couldn't tell if it was 'increased'.

"Esther?" I asked, feeling like a kid caught with a stolen toy, "I think I have it."

She laughed, which really surprised me.

"Carden, we haven't had any prolonged contact with the water, which is how it usually spreads. Unless you took a dip in the lake last night, you've had no time to absorb the required bacteria."

I put my hand to my head.

It didn't _feel_ like I had a temperature, but isn't it supposed to feel like you're just normal? Because your hand is the same temperature as the rest of you?

Esther watched me and laughed again.

"It's more likely you're suffering from hypochondria."

"What's _that_? Am I going to die?"

It sounds even worse than just 'fever'! Plus, I could practically _see_ black clouding up my fingertips. I rubbed them on the ground, and they turned brown, with dirt.

"No, silly. It's when you think you're sick, but you're not. Really, don't worry."

She put her hand to my head, and I thought I saw concern flash across her face.

"Why don't you lie down, Carden. Franz will go sleep, too. I'll keep watch with Hypatia."

I nodded. She seemed fine, now. And the idea of a sleeping bag was very inviting, after setting up camp, and rowing, all day. Franz groaned a bit about Esther 'acting like his dad', but he went to lie down in his sleeping bag, eventually.

"Franz?" I whispered, "How come you know all that stuff about the fever?"

He was quiet for a bit, but he answered.

"They talk about how District Two is the medical district? Well, someone has to make the medicine. That's one of the things District Six does. Naturally, they use the kids like lab rats for all the new vaccinations."

"Oh," I said. "We just cut down trees."

"Actually," he replied, rolling over to face me, "I've always liked District Seven. Once, my sister Matilda went there for a craft project, for school. Promoting inter-district peace and whatever. She really liked this one little kid there. A bit older than you, though."

"Cool! I've never been to another district."

"Yeah, I was too young, though, and the Capitol stopped the program the next year. But she brought me back a bracelet she made, and it helps me a lot."

Franz pulled his arm out of the sleeping bag, with a pretty cotton bracelet. A lot like mine, actually, but he was looking really sad, and kind of angry, so I didn't say anything.

"Good night, Franz."

"Go to sleep, Carden."

* * *

**Kali POV**

Didn't I kill District Three? I can't remember any more, but I'm pretty sure she's currently decomposing in a hovercraft somewhere. So she shouldn't be with me in my tent holding my arms to my sides, and just sitting there, smiling.

No one, not even Maren, will help me get rid of her. And she's making it hard to breathe. I have to gulp air faster, just to stay alive. And she never speaks to me, just stares, and smiles. It's horrible. Torture. I've long since given up on trying to kill her. Surely, she's dead already. None of my knives, or even my staff, help.

Outside, I can hear Soren laughing. He must have done this! He kept her alive, somehow, and thrust her into my tent. I'll kill them both, once I'm out of here. All of them. Everyone.

Even Maren, the one who brings me food, I'll kill, because I hear her voice outside, laughing. All of them are laughing at me, thinking I'm dead. Luxe is laughing, the high-pitched noise grating on my ears.

She even joins District Three, not holding my arms down, but talking.

"You're weak, Kali. Otherwise, you wouldn't be in here, wouldn't be dying. Maybe you shouldn't have hit me so hard. Then I would be dying, in your place, instead of already dead. You killed me. Your best friend. So that you could die like this."

Then she disappears, leaving me to sit up, stab District Three for the last time, and exit my prison, my tent.

"What are you sitting around for? The next one to sleep, I'll kill."

I smile at them, Maren, Royce, Soren, and Actassi, looking shocked, and slightly scared, by my appearance. Good. That means I'm in charge.

"We're going hunting tonight."

* * *

**Lecia POV**

Kali is awake. And mad, too. Both ways. Angry, and insane. I've heard what the other careers are saying, about a fever, which luckily, I haven't yet caught. That's been my only lucky break. I'm out of food, and there's only one small jug of water left.

Outside, I hear the careers arguing about who will go on the first hunt. I only know that Kali will be one of them.

"Quiet!" she shrieks, interrupting the disagreement, "Royce is coming with me. Soren will begin stocking the other boat."

No one seems willing to cross her. She smiles, too angelically.

"Good."

The two of them grab their best weapons, and carefully enter the boat. I can see why Kali wanted Royce with her. He's definitely the strongest career left, and the biggest. Thus, the best at rowing.

Kali points him in the opposite direction that Diane and Hetcher went, and they have a pat before even leaving the island, but Kali wins, apparently targeting the bigger alliance, with both District Six tributes, and two Twelves. I say a prayer for them, and for me.

Maren and Actassi have been standing guard all day, so in the darkness, they retire quickly to their sleeping bags. Soren continues to load the boat, quietly picking up supplies.

I still tense up whenever anyone comes near my hiding spot, especially Soren. Even though I didn't like Spencer, I don't want to die. The cut on my stomach is scary enough.

He comes closer to my plastic square, and lifts it up, so quietly that I didn't notice him coming. I bite back a shriek, and grab my knife, though I have no chance against him, even if he is alone.

Instead of slashing down with his big sword, like I thought he would, he laughs, so loudly that I think he's going to wake up Maren and Actassi.

"Smart little girl!" he says, smiling broadly down at me, as I cower in the corner. I don't feel very smart.

"Get… Back," I stutter, remembering what happened the last time I said that. He doesn't attack like Kali did, just laughs some more.

I'm just cowering back, looking for a better weapon, but not finding anything.

"Now look, I'm not going to kill you. Just… This is hilarious!"

He doesn't seem quite right in the head, so I decide to do whatever he tells me to. I don't like the idea of being sliced open, and he's still holding his sword.

"Are you going to… Kill me?"

"No, not yet anyway. I was in a good mood to start off with, but this just made it a hell of a lot better!"

"Than what do you want?" I stutter, still hoping not to die.

"Let me explain. I've been repeatedly told that I'm an idiot, a total moron, pretty much anything that isn't smart. I'm trying to get out of here. So I'm going to let you live, as long as you come with me."

Huh?

"So, you don't want to kill me?"

"Not _yet._"

I shrug. There are a lot of loose ends, but I guess I'd rather stay alive a bit longer than just die here.

"Wait. Why should I trust you? Are you going to kill me the second I'm asleep?"

He sobers up, looking me full in the face.

"Lecia, if I wanted you dead, do you really think you'd still be breathing?"

**---x**

**Will the Lecia and Soren alliance last, or is he lying? Let me know what you think!**


	31. Gone

**Sorry for the late chapter. DX**

**--x **

**Royce POV**

I hate it how all my allies seem to blame me for feeling sad about Paris. Even I have to reprimand myself for being so weak as to form attachments in the games; it's practically suicide. Self-harm is not something that interests me, seeing as I have plenty of people willing to do that for me.

Kali's elected herself unquestioned ruler of our band, and no one is really objecting to that. She's too mean to die, and apparently, not even the fever could beat her. My chances are looking pretty bad against her, especially tired out from all this rowing.

Yes, rowing. I've always been proud about my muscular structure, but everyone else seems to interpret it as a neon 'ask Royce to row the boat you're in' sign.

Joy and elation. I am officially the go- to guy for grunt work.

Even worse, as I woke up on the third morning of the Hunger Games, I realized that it was the third morning, and I was already sore, which royally sucks. I'm a District freaking One. I don't do 'sore', unless it's from training. This was not from training. It was a byproduct of Kali making me row all over the lake for several hours, throughout the night.

If you're looking for a relaxing experience by the lake shore, I really don't recommend it.

Kali had decided that she was not leaving the island for the day, due to being 'tired'. I fought back a comment that probably would've gotten me killed.

Maren was elected to lead the next hunt, which made her look a bit green, though she straightened up tall, and proclaimed that I was coming with her.

I kicked the grass, bitterly, resulting in a large green stain across my already-disgusting, previously white, Capitol issued lace up shoes. But I was getting, unfortunately, very used to dirt.

Actassi said that while Kali and I were out 'traversing the wilderness', he had made some updates to the boat's internal structure. I had no clue what he meant, but Maren checked the boat out, and mentioned the 'skill required to do that'. Actassi went a bit red around the ears, but he did a good job of hiding it.

Well, the boat just looked like a boat to me.

Maren was in the boat quickly, saying she wanted to get this over with, which I don't really get. Killing is for either revenge, or enjoying it, in the same way that I'm going to get revenge for Paris, and enjoy it very much.

She doesn't seem too motivated, though.

I was preparing to join her, when a flash of silver near the Cornucopia caught my eye. I blinked, and it disappeared. But I could have sworn it was a gift from our sponsors.

"Hey, Maren?" I'm going to go check that out. I'll be right back."

She nodded, and went back to staring glumly at the water, but Soren stopped me.

"You heard her, Royce. Fish-girl is going to be a pain to be around if she doesn't 'get this over with'. I'll go check it out, you go with her."

First sentence I'd ever heard him say without a profanity, but I shrugged and went to join her in the boat, pulling off the island in a few strokes of the paddle. District Four was right; it did handle a bit easier than it had last night. But I'm not doing him any favors just because of it, don't get me wrong.

Maren had brought a sword, and she was obsessively sharpening it with some rock she found. Honestly, she seemed more nervous than anything.

I didn't say anything, or try to calm her down, because she's not really a friend or anything. I wouldn't really care if she ended up dying because of some mistake she made due to nerves.

She told me to stop (a bit more politely than Kali) at the first island we came to, but it was deserted, except for a spring in the center that she didn't think was safe, and some unidentifiable fruit trees. We didn't touch either of them; there were plenty of supplies back in the boat.

At the next island, there were no trees whatsoever, just loads of bushes covered in waxy white berries. There was no birdsong, or noise, but the whole place smelled enchanting. I really wanted to go onshore, but Maren stopped me, gesturing to plug my nose. I did, and my head cleared. We stayed away from that island.

The third island, though, had some very nice trees, and a load of brush at the shoreline. I spotted a cave farther inland, so we decided to stop at it, and rest for a while before continuing. At least it didn't have anything wrong with it.

We banked the boat on a large pile of branches, and I brought my spear; she her sword, and a bit of food. I offered to carry it, but she declined.

What is it with me and girls? Just because I don't want to cook… Gah. I will never understand them.

I ended up walking in front, because as we walked, the forest became progressively more silent. We passed a little bush of black lumpy berries, and a tiny, beautiful spring that Maren judged safe, and we were sort of considering staying for a bit, considering how high up the sun was.

She heard a noise, and hushed me, which was rather unfair. I was not making any sound in the first place.

Then I heard it again; unmistakably, laughter. I couldn't identify it, but some more voices followed. There were at least three people in that cave. While our chances of some rest were sinking, our chances of taking down a few tributes were. I was hoping Diane would be among them.

Normally, I have a bit of a thing about hurting girls, but in her case, I was eager to make an exception. She killed Paris. I kill her. It's an eye for an eye, really. My brain was whirring away, trying to justify what I was about to do. It was working pretty well, too.

Maren circled around the cave, and the voices abruptly stopped. There were the sounds of some shuffling around inside the cave, and then all was quiet. Hopefully, they hadn't anticipated us.

I held up three fingers, then two, then one. And we both ran into the cave.

* * *

**Esther POV**

I was in what was easily the best mood I had been since entering the games. Our sponsors had come through, sending us an egg apiece, which I explained was brain food. Luckily, they were boiled, so we didn't have to start a fire.

Franz peeled and ate his quickly and quietly, looking very lost in thought. Hypatia figured out how to eat hers relatively quickly, though she claimed to have never had a boiled egg before.

I tried to slowly consume mine, but it was a bit too hard; I practically swallowed it whole.

The funniest was Carden. I gave him some fever syrup this morning, and he claimed he felt better, but he could not, for the life of him, figure out how to open the egg. He would flip it over and over, looking for the hinges, and then try to peel it, and by the end everyone but Franz was laughing.

I explained how it was done, and he lit up, banging it against the cave wall before slurping everything out like a little savage. Hypatia, in particular, found it hilarious.

I was glad for that. I hate it when those two are pessimistic about what's going on.

Franz heard something outside, though, and we all jumped. So far, we have managed to avoid most of the catastrophes that usually strike by this time in the games purely by luck, and we were overdue for some calamity.

In the back of the cave, I heard Hypatia nock an arrow, and aim it directly between Franz and me. Carden was to her right, just in front of her with his little knife shining in the dark. Franz and I assumed position, with him on the left, and I on the right, though we saw nothing.

My fatal mistake was when I began to relax, hoping that it had been a falling pinecone that made the sound.

A huge career ran headfirst into me, and being the 5'5 that I am, and completely unprepared, I flew several feet backwards, though I was on my feet before him, scrabbling for my knives.

It sounds crazy, but I always feel safer holding a knife. No matter where I am. Confronting a six-something career with muscles like any victor I've ever seen is no exception.

I stole a glance at Franz in the second I had, finding him parrying the sword of the District Four girl who seemed okay in training. She doesn't look so good; leading me to hope that Franz has a chance.

The big guy was back on his feet, his eyebrows raised.

"I'm supposed to fight _you_?"

"Yes, goddammit!" the District Four girl yelled back at him, "And then you're supposed to help me!"

One of Hypatia's arrows hit her in the shin, and she winced and stumbled a bit.

I lifted up my big knife, and pulled back my throwing knife arm, trying to look intimidating.

"You're a _girl. _A _little_ girl."

I wasn't sure if I should be insulted, but I rapidly formed a new plan. At the expense of my dignity, of course. But aren't all frantically hatched plans?

I dropped the big knife, fell to the floor, and flipped the throwing knife under my wrist, so he couldn't see it.

"Please," I sobbed, internally grimacing, "Don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me."

I willed a couple of tears up, but I only got one, though I was flushing enough to make my face a bit puffy.

He looked much more uncertain, torn between helping my up and running me through with his spear. I kept up the act, though I could feel Carden and Hypatia staring at me in shock.

"Maren?"

"Not. Fucking. Now!" she shot back, slashing at Franz' exposed leg.

It was working. I curled up in a ball, and increased the volume of my sobs, trying to keep an eye on the weapons in case someone saw through it.

"I am _not_ fighting someone on the ground." He grimaced, and leaned over to drag me back up.

Halfway to my feet, I slammed the knife into his shoulder, all the way up to the hilt.

He dropped me, of course, but I rolled and grabbed my big knife.

"You little bitch!"

I had missed his heart, or not stabbed deep enough, because though he was bleeding quite a bit, he only switched his spear to his left hand, and jabbed at me.

I dodged again, but he caught the side of my elbow, which tore with a resounding _rip_.

Trying to ignore it, I focused on slashing at his legs. Only one connected, and he stabbed down with his spear, pinning my left hand to the ground. I dropped my little knife, and chopped at the wood with the big cleaver in my right hand.

It was getting hard to think, what with the blood I was loosing. I've never had very good iron levels, and I could feel myself losing more and more blood. Even without the tip of his spear, Royce could do serious damage. He landed a blow just an inch from my temple; a little more to the right and I'd have died then and there. I flipped over, and pulled myself up, managing to dodge his next swing.

My left hand hung uselessly at my side, as another one of Hypatia's arrows zipped by my ear, hitting Royce in the stomach.

I saw an opening in his defenses as he tried to remove it, and buried my knife in his side, over and over again. If he got through me, Carden and Hypatia would be… I couldn't bear to think, just continue to stab, over an over again, with my eyes closed. He fell backwards slowly, or at least it felt slow. I could feel blood all over myself, most of it mine.

I lifted my head as best I could. Hypatia fired another arrow at Maren, who dodged and ran, to wherever their boat was hidden, and I put my head down. Franz knelt beside me, holding a slightly bloody sword.

"Esther," he asked quietly, "Are you okay?"

I wanted so badly to say that I was, but I couldn't. my hand was limp and numb, and I couldn't pry my fingers from my big knife.

"Yes," I whispered, my eyes half closed.

"What did you do?"

I was silent. I heard a canon fire in the distance, and vaguely wondered if it was my own.

"I think I killed him."

"You did," he replied, looking sad.

I could feel my voice fading.

"Make Carden take his fever medicine every day. Tell him to take care of Hypatia for me."

"What?" Franz replied.

"It's the… Purple stuff. And when you get home, Franz, tell Rhea that I love her. Tell everyone that I tried my best."

He watched me, silently, as the edges of my vision started to go black. Then he stood, as if to walk away.

"Stay…" I rasped.

"Until you die," he promised, pulling out his sword. The look in his eyes, remorse and sadness; I knew what was coming.

"I'm sorry about your sister, Franz."

His expression filled with pain.

"You don't know the half of it."

He lifted the sword, and I knew I had seconds.

"I love you, Rhea."

Then the pain consumed me, as the cold began at my neck, making its way through every nerve in my body, and I went limp on the ground.

"Be safe…"

* * *

**Hypatia POV**

Just like that, he killed her. I didn't see anything in his eyes that said he was apologetic for what he'd done, only cold determination.

Esther's cannon blasted, and he dropped his sword, staring at her body like it was a foreign object. Carden and I sat, frozen, in the back of the cave, before I stood up.

"You spineless _bastard_. Get away from her!"

I pointed my arrow at his throat, and he stepped back, weaponless.

"Hypatia, you don't understand. I had to do it. She-"

"Spare me. Just leave. Take a boat, I don't care. Just _go_."

"Not until I know she's gone."

Carden and I walked forward, both of us armed, and he took a step back, hands up in the air.

Carden was beginning to cry.

He crawled to her body, looking much younger than twelve, as he took this bracelet out from under his long sweatshirt, tying it around her good wrist.

"She saved us, Hypatia."

I nodded, and brought my own token, a leather band, around her neck, as I carefully closed her glazed over brown eyes, I glared up at Franz.

"We're having a ceremony."

He shook his head.

"Not for Lace. She killed my sister. Not for her."

Paranoia, Bipolar, I don't know what Franz suffers from. But I was right about who he is; a killer.

"Go."

Franz left, shaking his head the whole way, to a strange extent. I heard him uncover a boat, and the _swish_ of the paddles, as I looked down at Esther. The hovercraft would take her and Royce, soon.

"I'm sorry, Esther. I should have helped you," Carden said, tears welling up again.

"It's horrible to see you like this, Esther. And I promise, if we win, Carden or I will tell Rhea. We promise."

We carried her out, setting her next to Royce. He wasn't truly at fault for her death, but Carden and I don't mourn him. He was a career, who killed too many others. To be forgiven.

Carden and I retreated into the suddenly empty cave and huddled in the back. It's all we can do to stay warm as the sun goes down.

I miss her.

* * *

**Franz POV**

I have to get away from here. I don't know how far I go, but I have to. It's the only way.

I need to stop thinking.

Faster. Farther. Gone.

**--x**

**That was much more depressing to write than I thought it would be. I am, once again, so sorry for being late.**

**Mea Culpa.**


	32. Splash

**Yay! This chapter is completely on-time. :3**

**--x**

**Diane POV**

I would literally have killed for a drink of water. I know that's kind of irrelevant, because Hetcher and I were in the Hunger Games, and killing was pretty much just survival, but it felt good to admit it; I really would.

After being turned away from that group's camp, Hetcher had rowed all night (or so he told me) to get us back to our camp, where all our food had been stolen by strange frog-lizard hybrids. They were really bright colors, which apparently means 'poisonous', so he had to grab what he could, and run back to the boat, holding my bow, some arrows, a jug of water, and a bag of dried beef. Plus, of course, his sword.

He said it had been four days since the beginning of the Games when I woke up, and that I had been in a weird sort of fever-induced coma for most of it, and that I had killed Paris.

The last part was shocking. I've killed animals for several years, and though not enjoying it, I've gotten through it. But the matter of killing a human, a human girl, _my age_, even, was difficult to grasp.

I wondered what her parents, and my parents, thought of me. Hopefully, Rigel hadn't watched. Poor guy.

I had to remind myself that I was closer to going home, and besides, I had Hetcher with me. We hadn't even run into any trouble for the last day, so I ought to be thankful for the chance to get home.

But I was so damn _thirsty_.

I rolled out from under the tree Hetcher and I were occupying, and checked our bag of supplies. We had a few more shards of beef, and some beaten-up dried orange things.

I popped one of the mysterious things into my mouth and it was unpleasantly dry, soaking the moisture out of my already parched throat. I groaned loudly; my wrist hurt, my throat hurt, and I was surrounded by water Hetcher told me not to drink. The District Sixes had been talking about it, and the fever supposedly spread by bacteria in the water.

"Hetcher!" I called, ignoring how raspy my voice sounded, "Wake up. We have to go back to the island with that big alliance."

He groaned loudly, and pulled himself out through the roots of the huge tree.

"Why not go hit the careers up for some water as well? And check to see if those frog things want to invite us over for dinner?" he shot back, groggily.

I bit back a smile. It was definitely not something I would rather do, but our water ran out yesterday. That ginger guy was very disarming, and the girl with him had a seven, too, but we were both going to die soon if we didn't get some good water.

"C'mon, get up. There was a spring on that island that looked okay, remember?"

I actually don't remember, seeing as I was not particularly lucid at the time, but he's thirsty, too, and this finally rouses him.

"Fine, fine," he grunted, shaking dirt out of his hair, and crawling out completely, "But no killing unless necessary, okay?"

It's hard to believe he even had to ask me, but I nodded, and grabbed our remaining supplies, depositing them into the boat. It was messy, but cleanliness doesn't count against you in the Hunger Games.

He joined me, and we each took a paddle. Hetcher is a lot better at this boat stuff than I am, but I don't want him to overexert. It's hard enough to paddle with my right hand broken _and_ him helping, even though we've got a nice splint set up.

On our way back to (we hope) that island with the spring and the cave, no on really talked much. I was focused on the rowing, and Hetcher wasn't really awake.

We passed the creepy lizard island, and the flat island, which has nothing on it at all, even grass, and just seems dangerous. Then was the fruit-tree island that we didn't know what to make of, and I could see the cave island in the distance.

Hetcher probably did, too, because he began to row faster, hoping for the water. I noticed that I was, too. My left hand was actually working the paddle in time with his strokes, and we were making good time. I grinned, and tried not to think of water, until we were actually there.

I directed the boat onto a pile of brush, that would serve as a dock, for now, and pulled my bow, and a sheath of arrows, out of the boat. Hetcher got his sword, and an empty jug of water to fill.

Everything was painfully silent on the island, which worried me. Hetcher had described it as 'full of life', and there wasn't any life whatsoever. Just the occasional whisper of the wind through the trees.

I hushed Hetcher, who had just trod on a large stick, and crept quietly towards the cave, like I had done so many times before during the hunt.

I could hear the wind echo through it, and glancing in, I saw nothing but shadows, and a huge, red-brown stain near the entrance. I felt my stomach ball up.

Luckily, I was distracted by Hetcher calling me over to the spring, where he had filled the canteen. He was proceeding to fill his pockets with berries, which he had verified were safe.

I, however, did not hesitate to plunge my whole head into the water. I wanted to clear my thoughts, and it was working. I felt concern draining from my mind, just like the mud from my hair.

The illusion ended, when Hetcher roughly dragged me out of the water.

Before I had the chance to ask him what had happened, he hushed me, and pointed to the cave.

"I heard something in there."

I was about to remind him that we had the water, and berries, besides, but he ran to the mouth of the cave, hand on his sword. I followed, soaking wet, and wishing we were still dying of thirst on that island.

* * *

**Soren POV**

When I checked on Lecia yesterday, she had finally gotten a bit of food from her sponsors. And a life jacket. The hell? Did she not know how to swim?

Well, I think they're wasting their money, whoever they are. Despite the fact that I can't exactly swim, either.

However, late last night, I got a pretty kick-ass gift; a hacksaw. I don't think I've ever seen one of those used in the games, but I was long overdue for a gift, and this saw is incredibly useful, I'm sure.

I'm supposed to be the guard tonight, which is also pretty nice. Adding to my general happiness, Fish-girl and Royce haven't come back. Royce we saw in the sky last night, but I'm assuming that Fish-girl will join him, soon.

Either that, or she's just a pitiful boat controller. I'm not planning on ruling out the last option, though. Even if she is District Four.

Actassi has been fixing up the other boat all day, working like a dog. He's trying to make it just as good as the one that hasn't come back; I think he's also trying to stop thinking about whatever happened to the other half of our hunting party.

I've pretty much spent the two hours of consciousness that have already gone by, sharpening my spear, and wondering what the chances are that Lecia knows how to cook. I've decided that from what I know about her, it's pretty likely, and that I should bring along a pan.

Hard as it is to admit it, I sort of miss having Fish-girl cook. I bet Actassi knows how, but he's throwing himself into his boat building thing. Kali is in her tent, and even I can tell that going in there and asking her to fry up some breakfast would be suicidal.

No one is going anywhere with only one boat, and Actassi working on that one besides, so there's nothing to do. I can't even have some fun trying to piss of Fish-girl.

I hate to say it, but I'm _almost_ looking forward to when Kali wakes up, and we can do something without incurring her wrath. She's a psycho, through and through, and I rather enjoy living.

Lecia and I will have to get off this island soon. I think our resident Psycho is getting crazier by the day.

* * *

**Carden POV**

I just can't believe Esther is gone. It doesn't feel real. Like, someone is going to jump out and say "Just kidding! She's fine; you can go home now!"

Well, I can hope, right?

Hypatia and I had a hard time getting through the night, but we managed to pull ourselves out of the cave, for a last look at Esther's picture in the sky.

First, there was the headshot of the boy from One, who didn't _really _kill her, but I hated looking at him nonetheless.

Then, Esther's face flashed up, smiling subtly, looking slightly healthy, though she never had during the games. I spent her ten seconds trying to memorize what she looked like- slightly frizzy blonde hair, pale skin, too many freckles, and light brown eyes.

She had been sort of like a mother, at least, what I'm pretty sure a mother is. My mom certainly never would have tried to save Arvid and me, if that boy was running at her.

The anthem played, and the sky went completely dark, with no stars, or moon. Just black.

I shared a sleeping bag with Hypatia that night. Not like _that_, but because we both didn't want to feel so alone. At lest we were together, alone, if that makes sense.

She was the first awake the next morning, and I could tell she was trying no to wake me up, but I opened my eyes anyway. I watched her pick a few berries, from outside of the cave, and put them in a little metal bowl, then add something to them, and spread them on the last loaf of bread we had from the Cornucopia.

I lay back, and tried to think over who was left, but it was hard without a visual, so I reluctantly got out of the sleeping bag, leaving it crinkled on the ground, and used my little knife to write the names in the dirt of who was alive.

I've never been the best at writing, but I didn't want to ask for Hypatia's help.

KALi

FrANz

mAreN

SoreN

I listed, inexplicably thinking of the dangerous people first. Then I added

CArdeN

HypAtiA

Because we were both still alive. I think. There was someone else, too… I wrote

LeciA

Hetcher

DiANe

ActAssi

Fourteen people had died. It was way more real, now that I actually could see who hadn't. So many people.

Hypatia was finished with whatever she had been making, and she smiled, handing me a piece of bread smeared with what looked like jam, only more lumpy. I ate it slowly; Hypatia was a good cook, but…

"Not as good as Esther."

I looked up; it was like she had read my mind. Hypatia was looking sadly at her own half-eaten toast, probably thinking something similar to what I was.

Taking another bite, I tried not to tear up, but I felt very, very small. Like I wasn't even twelve. I wanted to be a little kid again, and not have to worry about all this stuff.

"Hypatia," I said, my voice breaking, "Why did she have to die?"

She closed her eyes, and thought for a minute before answering.

"I've studied this sort of thing before. Many great philosophers, from thousands of years ago, had theories about it. But I don't really know."

Her eyes were sort of sparkly with tears, as she thought, and slightly vacant. Like she was somewhere else at the same time.

"Can you try to explain?"

"Hush," she said quietly, picking up her bow, "Get to the back of the cave."

I stopped talking, and complied, picking up my things, and pulling the sleeping bag into the darkest recess of our shelter.

Hypatia followed suit, joining me, and huddling against the back of the cave.

"What is it?" I whispered, as quietly as I could.

"Someone is outside," she replied, "I'm sorry, but we need to be quiet."

We pressed up against the back, as we heard some footsteps. They walked away, and we heard a _splash_ at the spring that was supplying our water.

I pressed my hands together, and prayed that is wasn't the District Two girl. Hypatia aimed one of her arrows at the mouth of the cave, though she was careful to stay in the shadow.

"I heard something in there," a male voice said, and I heard a lighter _splash_ as someone joined him. His footsteps grew louder and louder, as he entered the cave, her's behind him.

I grasped the handle of Esther's big knife as tightly as I could, and Hypatia tightened the string of her bow. We nodded to each other once, and stepped out of our hiding place, and straight into an attack.

**--x**

**Well, I had to do a cliffy **_**some**_**time, and I figured that this was a good place to do it!**

**I love y'all to pieces, heck, you've put up with thirty-two chapters of this stuff.**

**A big thank you to everyone who's stuck with me since the beginning.**


	33. Darkness

**Once again, I'm on time! Let's make this a habit. :)**

**--x**

**Franz POV**

I can't totally remember the last time I stopped rowing, but I can remember through the night, staring at the sky. Only two paddles, my clothes, and the boat I was in.

Surely, Matilda was proud? I had killed Lace, like she never could. Her killer had died at the hands of a Desmond. Though Lace had been remorseful, at the end. Who would have imagined that?

By the second day, I was sore, and tired, and still trying not to think. And surrounded by water that I could not drink. Lace was still tormenting me, whenever I closed my eyes, so I didn't blink much. It hurt, but her face hurt more.

The lake water glared uncomfortably as the sun rose, and it reflected everything into my eyes, which was, of course, painful. Along with the various cuts I had received while fighting with the District Four girl, it was beginning to distract me from my task of getting as far away as I could from the corpse of the girl who killed my sister. And now she had the bracelet…

That was distracting me. Where had Carden gotten that bracelet? And why did he give it to _her_? I twisted my own band around my wrist, wishing I could have stopped him. Lace didn't deserve their tributes to her.

I was interrupted by the aching thirst in the back of my throat. It was getting worse, the desiccation. Slowly, or quickly, it could kill me as it liked.

I sped up my rowing, past a tiny island with sandy white beaches, and tiny trees, which swayed even though there was no wind. I didn't stop.

There was no doubt that I needed water badly. My eyes kept turning towards the lake, and how _clear_ it seemed so far out, and about the vaccination I'd had as a little boy. Surely it would be okay, and my immune system could fight off just a little of the bacteria?

My hand dipped into the water of its own accord, one shimmering palm full. I couldn't take it, and sipped from the makeshift bowl. The water was cool, and soothed the back of my throat, but was gone much too fast.

Dipping my hand in once again, I scooped up another… And another…

* * *

**Actassi POV**

Maren has been gone for nearly two days now. Soren and Kali don't seem to care, so I've been skirting around the subject with them, and spending most of my time working on the boat. Eventually, Kali will tire of waiting, and leave the island alone. I don't think she could stand to be in a boat with Soren.

I lazed around, on the fourth day, though it was growing later in the afternoon, and surely, the Capitol needed a bit more entertainment. I added a jug of water to the almost-full boat, and pulled one of the more pliable pieces of plastic on top, like a tarp.

Then, I went to lie down in my sleeping bag, in the shade provided by the Cornucopia. It was okay, there, much nicer than going to sleep at home. Though I was near-sick with worry about Maren. It was more than just a little crush; I didn't want to be left alone with these two District Two's and their homicidal intentions.

It was very nice, there, and I am not sure who long I lay. But the shadows where beginning to lengthen, and I heard a quiet ripple of water, followed by a much louder _splash_, which jolted me awake.

The sound painfully reminded me of swimming, back home, and I sat bolt upright, pulling myself out of the sleeping bag. Maren was at the shore, soaking wet and dragging the boat I modified behind her.

I ran over, and dragged her out of the water. She had an arrow tip stuck in her leg and a gash on her left forearm.

"Soren!" I yelled inland, "I found Maren!"

He slowly walked out of the mouth of the Cornucopia, and I vaguely wondered what he had been doing in there.

"Sure you did, kid."

His eyes momentarily widened at the sight of my bedraggled district partner, before he ran back to the Cornucopia, returning with a first-aid kit, and shaking his head ruefully.

"I'm going soft. Here, bandage Fish-girl up."

I cracked open the kit, and spun the roll of bandages around her arm, then carefully snipped it with a pair of medical scissors. I used the scissors to pull the arrowhead out, but not without her blinking her eyes open, and wincing in pain.

"Hey, 'Tassi. I take it I made it back alive?"

"Barely," I muttered, pulling out a tiny vile of what looked like sleeping medication, or something.

"Soren!" I yelled, again.

He came loping back form the Cornucopia, looking annoyed.

"Make up your mind, kid! Whad'ya want?"

"Aren't you the District Two here?"

He nodded, rolling his eyes.

"Didn't the rebellion fail? _Duh_."

"Then technically, _I_ should be the one fixing the boat she just dragged in, and _you_ should be the one fixing Maren up."

Admittedly, the adrenaline may have emboldened me a bit too much, but Soren seemed to be in his unusual good mood.

"Fine, kid. I'll fix whatever damage you did. But keep in mind, _you're_ going with Kali on the next hunt."

I paled a bit, but walked over to see what damage had been done to the boat. Maren had to have had a reason to nearly kill herself dragging it back to this island, but there didn't appear to be any. I flipped it over, and there were no leaks, and the bow was as streamlined as I'd left it. I'd ask her once Soren finished.

Out of the blue, she screeched loudly, and I whipped around to see Soren dripping colored liquid into the puncture wound on her leg.

"Shut up, Fish-girl, it's called _iodine_."

He rolled his eyes dramatically, and went back to bandaging her up. I had no doubt that if she was not in her current condition, she would have tried to kill him, then and there.

Maybe if I was as good with a sword as she was, I would have, too. As it was, though, I was a bit more preoccupied with surviving, and fixing the boat.

It was weird, though, how apart from me, Soren had the lowest score in our group. I mean, Paris had a nine, and she was first to go, then Bond, who had a nine, too. Royce had a _ten_. I can honestly say, I didn't expect to live this long.

At that point, Maren had slapped Soren, dragged herself up, and was going through the pile of supplies we had to find some clothes. Smart of her; it gets cold during the night.

Kali came out of her tent, standing and stretching, as limber as one of the cats that climbs the riggings of the big ships, and lives of fish. She blinked, and gazed around her, shifting her raptor stare to Maren

"You're alive."

Maren nodded, and grabbed a shirt and a pair of brown pants from a large crate, before unflinchingly pulling her shirt off.

"Look away, Actassi," she said, a few seconds too late.

I, being of a mature composition, turned beet red.

Soren, too, was suddenly enraptured in the details of his sword, sharpening it on the knife he kept on a belt around his waist, and pointedly looking at everything else.

"Hey, fish-girl, you asked the kid over there, but not me. Do I detect a slight infatuation?"

"In your dreams. We're all girls, right?"

Soren rolled his eyes, and muttered something that sounded obscene. He's actually been better about that, lately. It's like he's got someone who's 'encouraging' him to stop.

I bet it's Kali.

The girl in question, was surveying the boat, and cracking open a package of dried beef.

"How soon can we hunt?" Kali asked sharply, startling me.

"Ummm… Err… Maybe tomorrow morning? I mean, umm… The boats are still kind of in disrepair."

Something about Kali just seems to make me about as eloquent as a dead fish.

"Not soon enough. We're going tonight."

With that, she stalked back to the big supply pile, and began to saw the head off of a spear with a serrated knife.

I shuddered at the thought of hunting at night, and picked up what looked a bit like a mace, only without spikes. A flail? Huh. I guess I could use it. I twirled it a few times, then accidentally hit myself in the thigh.

Ow. Freaking, or to use Soren's choice of words, _fucking_, OW.

I hopped around a bit, to general amusement, before picking up a jug of water, and slowly pouring it on my leg.

That felt much better.

Maren had stopped shivering, and began sort of boiling some dried beef in water from a jug, over a little fire. She added some powdery stuff from a packet, and it smelled decent, if not good.

Even Kali came out of her tent to have a bit. Decent food had been in short supply since Maren's disappearance.

I myself was happy to have something warm to eat, as my own efforts to cook had been something akin to 'Crackers… with dried beef!'.

I think we were all, in our own way, at least marginally pleased that she was okay. Though Soren was fidgety all through the meal.

Finally, he stood up, and glanced at the sky.

"Y'know, Kali, if you and Actassi want to get back by a decent time, you'd better go now."

Internally, I was terrified of being alone on a boat with Kali, but I merely nodded, and went to wash off my bowl in the lake. This would, at worst, be a horrible night, and I would end up dead.

At best, we would not find anyone, and would simply come back, respectively disgruntled and relieved.

Obviously, I'm hoping for the best.

But what can I say? I'm an optimist at heart!

* * *

**Hetcher POV**

Diane and I both jogged into the cave, her making very wet, slushy noises, due to her hair being absolutely full of water. I kept my sword in hand, and she had her bow out, ready.

We heard a tiny scuffle in the back, and what we say in the ebbing light shocked us; it was not in the least who we were expecting.

The two skinny, blonde, Twelves were holding a large knife, and a bow and arrow, looking absolutely terrified. We were not, apparently, what they were expecting, either.

Diane dropped her bow.

"Hetcher, they're alone."

"What?" I asked, not wanting to turn around and face her, which would expose my back.

"They're kids," she said, quietly.

"It could be a trap."

"It's not!" the little boy said, stepping in front of the girl with his knife pointed at me, "Don't hurt us!"

"Whoa, slow down there. We don't mean any harm," I said, moving my hand away from my sword.

"Let me speak with them, Carden," the girl said from behind him.

He moved reluctantly to the side, and she lowered her bow, slightly relaxing her grip on the string.

"I'm Hypatia."

Diane nodded, and I relaxed.

"I'm Hetcher, and this is Diane."

"Hi," said Diane.

Somehow, I didn't think this was the big climax that the Gamemakers had been hoping for. Carden smiled uneasily, and Hypatia pulled a bag off her shoulder, opening it.

"Would you like to eat with us?" she asked, pulling out a few crackers.

We both nodded, not having realized how hungry we were.

Carden offered to go pick some berries, and Hypatia agreed, they left us with a medium-sized package of crackers, and a little jug of water.

"What was that?" Diane asked, picking up a cracker, and popping it into her mouth.

"I don't know," I replied, "But I'd like to know what happened to the two who were with them."

She nodded, and leaned against my shoulder, chewing on the cracker. We sat in silence for a bit, listening to the rhythmic _drip_ of water at the back of the cave. It was almost peaceful.

We could hear the two Twelves giggling outside, and it was easy to imagine that we were not in the Hunger Games at all.

Hypatia and Carden, with handfuls of berries, skipped in, looking happy to be momentarily free from danger.

It was easy to see why the two District Sixes had kept with this pair. The Hunger Games could really get a guy down, and being around happy Twelves… Well, it's hard not to be happy, too.

Diane stood up.

"I thought I saw some rabbits out there. Are there many on this island?"

The two nodded, and Carden looked up.

"Why?" he asked.

"Well, you two have been very nice to us, it's only fair we do something for you."

They nodded like it made perfect sense, which I suppose it did. But it couldn't erase my dread that the Gamemakers were planning something.

I ate a few berries, and finished the crackers, and after half an hour, Diane was back with two rabbits.

Carden was interested, but Hypatia had to look away while she skinned them.

We all sort of stared at the four cuts of meat before I broke the silence.

"Can we stay?"

The two looked surprised that I would even ask. Carden looked to Hypatia, and the two hurried to the back of the cave, whispering intently. Carden shook his head over and over, and Hypatia sighted, rejoining us.

"You two have been nothing but kind to us, but our last alliance, well, ended poorly. We can't make any more attachments. I can't lose someone that important again."

Carden put his arm around her shoulder, and her eyes teared up, just a bit.

"Thanks. You can stay the night, though," Carden said, quietly.

Diane smiled thinly at them and leaned against the wall.

"Can you tell us wha-"

She didn't get to finish her sentence. With a rumble, the mouth of the cave collapsed on itself, blocking any hope of exit.

* * *

**Lecia POV**

"C'mon out, Lecia," Soren whispered, his hacksaw shining in the light of the slim crescent that was the moon.

I stirred from under the plastic, sitting up for what felt like the first time in weeks, though it had only been a day.

"Who is on guard?" I whispered back, grabbing a jug of water, and my knife.

"Me," he replied, smirking.

I was still worried about Soren's intentions but so far he had done everything to gain my trust, and nothing to lose it. And I had to get off the island.

"I'm ready, don't worry."

He walked up to a tree, and quietly sawed off a large branch, making what looked like a very long oar. Then, he quickly formed it even more; it was more like two oars stuck together.

Noticing me staring he added "Fish-girl lost the oars on the boat we're taking."

I nodded; the District Four girl had returned with the boat just today. Swimming, with it behind her. She had yet to reveal why.

I grabbed two blankets and wrapped myself in them, forming a little nest in what I had dubbed 'my side of the boat'. Soren had inexplicably found that funny.

He had finished making his weird oars; they were roughly hewn, but would serve the required purpose of propulsion.

The District Four girl rolled over in her sleep, causing me to hold my breath, but she didn't wake up.

Soren set the paddle on the boat, and grabbed two more bags of supplies, before joining me.

He picked up the oar, and slowly began to paddle; he said it was just like a 'kayak' in one of District Two's simulation games. He explained earlier that in addition to medical personnel, his district often sends wannabe career tributes into the Capitol's army. Sometimes they even get to use real weapons, like guns.

I don't know about that. Learning more about Soren is only making me more scared of him, and I know I shouldn't be scared of my ally.

We pulled of the island's coast, and the boat bobbed, just a bit, in the deeper water. He somehow kept it quiet, and even the District Four girl who'd grown up around water her whole life, didn't hear us as we slipped into the darkness.

**--x**

**Yay! Long chapter!**

**Of course, tell me what you think. Sorry if your gift still hasn't been sent in; there's been a bit of a buildup. :P**


	34. Alone

**Late chapter. Bad author. It won't happen again, I swear. DX**

**--x**

**Kali POV**

What a little idiot. The District Four boy sat in the boat with me, rowing, in the dark, twitching a bit whenever I looked at him. It was actually a bit fun; I kind of got into a rhythm.

Glare, twitch. Glare, twitch. It was pretty funny.

I had other things to worry about, so I restrained myself from continuing the pattern, though I couldn't contain a smirk. He avoided my stair, somehow, despite the encompassing darkness. I liked the dark, though I could tell he didn't. He fidgeted, when he thought I couldn't see.

But I see everything. Darkness is only a word.

Voices.

I heard the first one, from the direction of an island, just past the one that smelled so beautiful, yet deadly. A dark cave, a grove of trees, and moonlight. I silently gestured towards it, and District Four shifted the paddles, and began to move towards it, silently.

The voice sounded again, unmistakably belonging to a girl. Probably not a Twelve; the only one left, not in my alliance, old enough to make that noise…

My eyes widened, briefly. This had surprised me, like so much else fails to do. Diane was in that cave, on that island; the first one to spill the blood of my alliance. I gripped my staff tighter; it would be good to watch her die, that one. She deserved it, even more richly than the others I killed.

Perhaps there were others with her. They were momentary difficulties; bumps in the road that would lead towards my victory.

That girl was the one I had to kill. I felt my vision turn slightly red; on the inside. Revenge was not my motivation, but survival. She had killed one of our number, albeit, one who I would have disposed of myself.

Diane had to go.

We banked silently; I was momentarily grateful that I had brought District Four. He knew how to use a boat, and could not threaten me. If necessary, I knew that I could kill him easily.

He was clumsier on land, tripping over a rock on the shore, forcing me to drag him back up. Despite my barely healed wounds, I moved through the brush like a wraith, though in the shadows, I saw faces, images, of my fallen fellow tributes.

Some of them, I didn't know, but Royce and Paris were familiar. I pushed past them, nonetheless; the dead were dead. Luxe was dead. District Three was dead. They would not come back, no matter how much, or little, I wished.

It was strangely comforting.

I reached a fresh pile of rocks, at what looked like the mouth, but there was no obvious entrance to any hidden cave. I put my ear to a tiny chink in the rock, and listened; I could hear breathing, and another voice, a lower male, this time. No doubt, it was Diane's companion, the District Twelve boy who had survived inordinately long.

He had violated the sanctity of the final ten; he too, would die.

District Four caught up with me, breathing heavily, but I doubted that they could hear us. They would not be expecting us; an advantage. All we needed was a way in.

Experimentally, I pulled on a rock at the top of the pile, but it triggered a small avalanche of dust and debris. I stopped breathing; inside, the voices ceased.

I continued to stand there, in silence, with the boy at my side, for nearly five minutes, before the speaking resumed, albeit quietly.

The night continued to grow darker, as the moon set, and I could hear District Four shivering to my left. Slowly, I circled the cave, but it was unclear how they had gotten in, in the first place.

There were no obvious entrances, and I could sense that my comrade was growing less and less useful by the second. Even my eyelids began to droop, slightly, though I quickly put a stop to that. Weakness was not something I needed, at all.

No way was I leaving, though. I had come so far, and they might leave before we could return… I hissed at District Four, when he yawned, and he stood up bolt-straight, sufficiently terrified.

Even the hushed voices eventually quieted, and I circled again, this time focusing on the foliage at the cave's base, occasionally tugging at it experimentally. No results, until I reached the back of the cave, and uprooted a small bush, triggering a mini landslide of dirt, but a quiet one. I internally screamed with joy; externally, I just smiled, and began to paw away the dirt, slowly, but steadily, tunneling towards my victory.

* * *

**Maren POV**

When I first opened my eyes, I flipped out. I was alone. On an island. Without a boat. In a sleeping bag. What was wrong with that picture? Oh yeah. Soren had bailed on me. On _everyone_.

And I was alone.

On an island.

Without a boat.

In a sleeping bag.

I'm not completely sure what happened in the next few seconds, but it involved profanities (by yours truly) that would have made that mutinous bastard blush. Yeah. Some words even I didn't know I knew.

But it's the sort of situation that brings out that kind of thing. Plus, it was dark, and he had taken all the matches.

That. Bastard.

I was thinking disjointedly, always returning to the point; Kali was gone, Actassi was gone, and of course, so was Soren.

Time passed, with me still wrapped in a layer of plastic and fleece, alternately crying and screaming. Too much. Five days on this fucking island, in this fucking arena, was too much.

Alone. I was alone. I never thought I would hate it so much.

* * *

**Soren POV**

Fish-girl is probably awake by now. She'd been getting up earlier and earlier, and though I could barely see the sun over the horizon, I could feel it; she was awake, and there was nothing she could do about my departure.

Kid, though, is holding up pretty well, considering that she's been in here for five days, now. I don't know how she got so smart; not like the brainiac from Six, but quietly smart. Kind, too.

And apparently, with a very strict no-cursing policy.

I lay back in the boat, and grinned. She had known enough not to refuse to join me, and was clever enough to somewhat hesitate, though I was hoping she would trust me. And be able to cook, which was why I wanted her along in the fist place.

Never did I think of myself as a 'big brother', because I was, and am, a little brother. But I keep feeling like Lecia isn't just the girl I was going to ditch on an island after she made me some food.

Whenever I have thoughts like those, I mentally slap myself, and snap the fuck out of it. There's no time for thoughts like those. We… _I_ need to get as far away from Psycho as I can. Hopefully, she'll blame Fish-girl for our disappearance, so I need to stay tuned for a cannon.

Kid needs to cook me something on the next island we come to.

Everyone has a job!

We found what seems like the edge of the arena by the time the sun was fully visible, and everything was light again. It was one huge island, curving around us, and up so high that from the boat, I couldn't see anything over its peak.

I remained antsy, which you can blame whatever medical condition my mom does for, and after Kid fried some beef, we set off again, in another direction, following the curve of the island. It seemed sorta barren, just a load of old, dead, trees, that we wouldn't be able to blend into with these green clothes that the Capitol stuck us in, which sucks. I was as tired as she was, and Kid was draining much faster than me.

"Where are we?" she asked, for the twentieth time that minute.

"I already told you,_ I don't know_."

"Sorry," she said, quickly, and resumed staring into the water.

I was glad for a moment; it was quiet. Very quiet. Too quiet, I realized. Something was underway. Something was going to happen.

Groping around in the bottom of the boat, I jammed as much stuff as I could grab into the waterproof sleeping bag, and rolled it up, before putting that in the largest backpack, and putting the bulging result on my back. It was heavy, but it would be protected, I hoped.

Kid saw what I was doing, and did the same, until only our weapons were on the floor of the boat. We waited, then; if something was going to happen, we were prepared, though her chances of surviving anything bigger than a jabberjay attack were shit.

The air was very still, and I felt a heaviness in my eyelids, as bugs droned in the distance, and heat settled into the boat. I hadn't slept last night, which was screwing up my internal clock.

"Soren," Kid said, poking me in the ribs, a sense of urgency in her voice. "Soren, please get up."

Why was she so pushy? Are all girls like that? I groaned, and rolled over.

"Please, Soren. Help me."

She sounded sort of desperate, and I opened my eyes a crack. I was about to go to sleep! You _don't_ wake me up, ever. Even if you're my ally.

"Leggo me," I growled, trying to slap the offending finger away.

"Get UP!"

I roused myself at the sound of her shriek, rolling my eyes. The boat tipped a little to the side.

"Kid, are you rocking the boat?"

"No, _that_ is!"

Looking down, even I was at as loss for words. A huge shape, twice the size of our boat, was prodding one side of the craft, before raising its head out of the water. It was a dolphin- but huge, and a pale pink, with bright blue eyes. They were familiar, in a weird way.

It was joined by a pure white dolphin, slightly smaller, but still big enough to swallow my arm without chewing. Its eyes were vibrantly red, and it seemed to recognize Kid, pushing up against her side of the boat.

"Vance?" she whispered, a strange look in her eyes, as she dipped her fingers in the water. The dolphin nudged up against her hand, allowing her to pet it.

Something was wrong. They were joined by twelve more, all in strange shades of brown, one of which had brown doe eyes, which I had never seen on a dolphin before, even in old photographs.

The dolphin with such large eyes seemed to be quite a show-off; jumping a full ten feet out of the water, and dousing both Lecia and me. She laughed, clapping her hands, and continuing to stroke the white dolphin on her side of the boat.

Continuing its tricks, the tan dolphin flipped on its back, displaying a pale brown underbelly. However, tied to its tail, was a red ribbon, with a golden number '8' charm.

A red ribbon, I realized with a jolt, that the girl from District Eight had been wearing during training, save for the eight.

Then I understood, though I couldn't tell why they weren't _doing_ anything, so I simply watched Kid pet her district partner, with worry. No, not worry. I wasn't worried. Not at all.

She grabbed a hold of the huge fin, and turned to me, beaming, somewhat vacantly.

"I think… He wants to give me a ride."

I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, and she giggled, nervously, before lightly hopping out of the boat, still holding her backpack full of supplies.

The dolphin slowly circled the boat, with her on its back, and then dove, faster than I would have believed.

Her shriek of terror became a gurgle, and I was barely able to grab a hold of her backpack before she was completely submerged.

I yanked on it as hard as I could, but the fucking dolphin was much stronger than its deceased counterpart.

Finally, she got her head above water, but before she could gasp a breath, a huge, tanned-brown dolphin, with a woven bracelet around its tail, embellished with a number '5' charm, seemed to jump out of nowhere, clamping its huge jaws around her tiny neck. I heard the crunch of bones; then a canon blast.

I yanked the bag one more time half hoping she would be okay, but when the beast released her, the water around her broken body was already a cloudy crimson. Pulling her body into the boat, I released the backpack from her grasp, and put it into the boat.

"No," I whispered, barely able to hear myself. Still, my inner voice, which was beginning to sound suspiciously like my mother, whispered, '_Isn't it what you wanted? You didn't need her. She was weak._'

No. I didn't need her. But I was alone. Alone, in the middle of a lake, surrounded by the killer reincarnates of my fallen fellow tributes, in dolphin form.

And they had tasted blood.

**--x**

**I am sooooo sorry. So much is going on in my life at the moment, but the next update will be much faster, I swear. :3**


	35. Chilling

**This chapter turned out sad... Just a quick warning, two character deaths. DX**

**--x**

**Hypatia POV**

When I woke up, it was even darker than it had been the previous morning- which was really saying something, eh? I was trapped in a cave. Not only was it dark inside, but outside, as well. The effect was, admittedly, chilling.

I stood up, thankful that the ceiling was high enough for me to do so, and felt my way over to the supplies, grabbing a little handful of berries. Leaning back on one of the walls, I consumed them, one at a time, in complete silence.

_Scritch, scritch, scritch._

A jolt coursed through my body, and I hopped a step back; the sound was coming from _under_ me, inside the wall of the cave. Wasn't trapping us in here, like rats, enough for the Capitol? I shivered at the thought of whatever was out there.

"Diane?" I whispered, my voice echoing plaintively in the darkness. "Hetcher?"

They stirred, and the sound reverberated through the walls again, a bit louder.

_Scritch, scritch, scritch._

Diane sat bolt upright, before grabbing one of Carden's knives, and hurriedly joining me by the wall, though she looked much the worse for wear, with her matted hair, and deep dark circles. I could barely see her; I knew she looked worse than I thought.

"How did you get up so fast?" I whispered, as she shook her head, groggily.

"The canon woke me up a bit earlier," she replied, leaning down, and pressing her ear to the wall.

I hadn't heard a canon. I hoped it was a career, or Franz.

Carden, too, managed to rouse himself, crawling over to join us.

"Kltpzyxm?"

I laughed quietly, handing him some berries, and a jug of water. On second thought, I ruffled through the bag, and pulled out the little bottle of fever syrup, grabbing the jug, and dropping a bit in, before giving it back to him.

Diane stood up, though her head nearly brushed the ceiling, and began to pace, stepping lightly in what I assumed was a circle.

"That isn't any animal _I _know of," she muttered, before grabbing a few berries, popping them into her mouth, and staring at the wall, broodingly.

I decided not to add that the Gamemakers could have released some mutts; she seemed worried enough, already. However, the likelihood of that being the case was multiplying with each passing _scritch_.

"How do you know so much about animals?" Carden rasped, his voice still full of sleep.

"I hunt them. It's my job," she replied, resuming her pattern of munching berries, and muttering to herself. I got the feeling that Diane wasn't a morning person, to any degree.

I finished my breakfast of berries and water, purposefully neglecting to eat the meat. I wanted to save that until it was necessary. I'm no animal rights activist, but I prefer to save the necessary proteins until they are… Well, necessary.

Suddenly, the tip of a finger broke through the soil. Diane was looking away, and Carden had his eyes closed, but I heard a triumphant shriek on the other side of the wall, which was quickly silenced. It was all _I_ could do not to reply with a scream of my own. The hand was a glossy brown, and decidedly feminine. Which meant…

"Kali is out there. She's halfway inside the cave already."

* * *

**Franz POV**

So far, nothing untoward has happened to me after drinking the lake water. Either the Capitol has removed the bacteria, most likely through an irregatory flush, or our crackpot scientists actually did something right. Either way, I'm not experiencing any hallucinations, and the dreams are all normal.

I'm not even seeing Lace's face in them anymore, which must mean I was right. Matilda is sending me a sign; telling me to stay going. She knows that I'm doing the right thing.

And I have a boat, and a few small sponsor gifts; a roll, a pint of water, a knife. For the sixth day of the games, I'm doing alright. I just keep feeling like something has to go wrong, sooner or later.

Matilda is probably keeping that from being the case, wherever she is.

The only thing I really do regret, is something that Lace said, before she died. Carden. I hope he's taking his medicine. For whatever bizarre reason, I'd grown attached to him.

I was lying in a makeshift sort of pallet, which I had spent about a day building from leaves and some large fronds, when I heard something large bump up against the shore. That there even _was_ someone or something in the vicinity was surprising; I heard a canon a few hours ago, and some splashing, but I'd figured that my visitor had been taken care of.

"Aww, screw this!" a boy shouted, audibly kicking something.

Footsteps moved inland, and I tensed, grabbing my knife. It's about as long as my forearm, and not as comfortable as my sword, but if my visitor was who I thought he was, I would need all the defense I could manage.

Indeed, the footsteps were getting louder, closer and closer. A canon sounded in the distance, and I could almost hear him look up.

"Hope it's Fish-girl," he muttered, chopping some of (my) branches away with his sword, entering the clearing where I stood.

Yes, it was Soren. Though he looked haggard, and much the worse for wear, he was holding a wicked sword, and his eyes gleamed manically. I idly wondered if I looked that bad; I hadn't checked lately.

He barked a laugh. He had seen me. Crap.

"Well, it's a ginger! Now, who would have thought I'd be seeing you here?"

I bit my lip; I had noticed in training that Soren had a talent for psyching people out. A lot. I would have bet my salary at the lab for a month that he was the one who killed the girl career from One.

"Where're the kids? Did they run away with your little District Six girlfriend?"

_Don't think about what he's saying_, I reminded myself. _He just wants to get under your skin_.

"Oh wait," he said, pausing dramatically. "Scratch that. She's _dead_. Refresh my memory… Weren't you there when it happened?"

Now that one threw me.

"How do you know?" I asked, without meaning to say anything. It just sort of crawled out.

"I know a lot of things, Ginger. Like, how she died. It was pretty painful, wasn't it?"

I closed my eyes, fighting to keep my composure. Already, I knew I was losing. And my conscience was tugging at the back of my head. What _had_ happened to Esther? I killed _Lace_, not her. But why was she dead, then?

"C'mon now. You didn't have anything to do with it, did you?"

God, he was like one of the Capitol psychics. They just keep guessing, until something throws you. He was definitely throwing me for a loop.

He smirked, and only then did I realize that he had been inching forward the entire time, and was so close, that I could almost have reached out with my knife, and poked him.

"So you did, then. Shame, Ginger."

With that, he stabbed directly at my chest, though I immediately blocked with my knife. I figured we were about equal swordsmen, though I was at a disadvantage with my weapon.

I fully expected him to stop talking, and concentrate, but he didn't. His mouth just kept on moving.

"You mentioned in the interviews that you had a sister, huh?" he said, punctuating the last syllable with a swipe at my throat, which I parried.

"She doesn't do much breathing now, does she."

I slashed at his stomach, but he stepped back, avoiding my blow by inches.

"Y'know, I think I watched the games she was in. Last year, wasn't it?"

Sparks danced in front of my eyes. He wouldn't go so low… I stabbed at his exposed stomach, and made contact, though a bit off-target; on the side of his ribcage.

He disregarded the wound.

"Her name was Melinda, am I right?"

"Matilda!" I grunted, aiming a kick at his shins, while simultaneously slashing a small swath through his left arm.

"She didn't teach you much about fighting," he quipped, dancing to the side, and neatly cutting off my right ear, which landed sickeningly on my shoulder, causing my already slightly red vision to explode in a burst of color, which quickly ebbed, leaving the pain.

I tried to keep from crying out, but failed; I couldn't suppress a whimper building in my throat, though I managed to keep parrying his jabs with my right hand, while staunching the blood on the right.

"Y'know, Ginger, you're pretty good with that knife. But I think I'll like you better as a dolphin."

With that, he slashed forward, and I was caught off-guard, with my face undefended. A rush of cold spread through my body, beginning with the point of impact, my forehead. I'm sure at some point I crumpled to the ground, and I know I felt blood pool around me, sickly warm.

But all I remember was the feeling of release, almost gratitude, as Matilda reached down, dragging me out of my tired body, and I floated away, not even hearing my own canon blast.

* * *

**Hetcher POV**

Have you ever woken up in a war zone? Well, let me tell you, it's not what you'd call a relaxing experience. I was awoken by someone stepping on my face; I immediately slapped them away, before realizing it was the District Two girl.

Still half asleep, I stumbled back, grabbing my short sword, as she brought a huge staff around to where my head had been, just moments earlier.

Diane was wildly deflecting Kali's staff blows with her bow, though she didn't have nearly enough room to nock an arrow. Her assailant, though, was about two inches shorter than her, and seemed to flit through the cave, just small enough to fit it perfectly.

Behind her was the obvious silhouette of Carden, carrying a limp form, a small girl. Seconds before I fully registered what was going on, I wondered why he wasn't helping Diane. Then it hit me. Hypatia...

"No, no, no," Carden whispered, gently shaking her. "You can't be dead, Hypatia. You can't. Get up, please."

She didn't move, though I saw her chest move up and down shallowly.

"Carden," she rasped, barely able to speak. "I know why. I know why people die."

He looked shocked.

"You're okay? Stop talking! Lie down, just... Don't move."

"No, I have to tell you. It's because they have to. Esther died so we could become who we are. My mother died so that I could be the way I am, here."

"And you are _not_ doing anything like that! I really like you, Hypatia. Stay alive."

"You really do?" she asked, a last spark in her eyes.

"Yeah," said Carden.

She slumped back, smiling, just barely, with her eyes closed. Kali and Diane continued to parry, and I continued to sit there, useless, just watching.

"Sorry," she whispered, as she went limp, and a canon blasted.

I stood up, clutching my sword, and Carden did the same, after gently placing Hypatia on the ground.

She snapped Diane's bow in half, with a blow to the center, and turned, breathing heavily, to face us all.

"Well, that was touching. But I'm afraid that this alliance can't last much longer. It's far to troublesome, you see, for me to have to deal with the fact that you are breathing."

There was something weird going on with her left eye. It was twitching, or something. It added to the insanity of her appearance.

It looked like it had come down to a three on one fight, and I wasn't sure about our chances, as the three. She smiled.

"Kali!" a tentative voice called from out side, "There are giant killer dolphins attacking our boat!"

What?

"The _hell_?" she yelled, voicing my thoughts.

She gave us all a killer glare, then practically slithered through a large hole in the ground, coming out on the other side before anyone could make to kill her.

Carden was crying, Diane was staring, stony-faced, at the hole, and I was wondering whether someone was watching out for us, and whether there were _really_ giant killer dolphins in the lake. I couldn't quite bring myself to think about what had just happened.

Hypatia lay there, looking small and crumpled against the wall, and Carden turned to her, still quietly crying.

"They'll want us to take out the body," he said, stiffly.

Another canon blasted, and I hoped that it was Kali.

Diane crawled out, first, not as elegantly as Kali did, but without gaining more than one bruise. Carden wrapped Hypatia in her sleeping bag, and slowly pushed her out, following Diane's 'all clear'.

I joined them outside, and we distanced ourselves from the bundle, covering our eyes, both to shade ourselves from the sun's glare, and to feel like we were truly _doing_ something, other than watching a hovercraft take her away.

I hadn't _really_ known her. She had been an entity, but not quite a person. Her death wasn't real, for any of us, except for Carden.

But she was gone.

As the hovercraft disappeared, I watched it go, and as Carden said a few words about her, I wondered what it would have been like, if that was Diane.

And I cried, too.

**--x**

**Wow. I killed two people, in depressing ways.**

**I didn't mean to even kill off Franz, at the beginning.**

**It just sort of happened.**

**So, if it's any consolation, I feel horrible about killing them; I really liked them both, as characters.**

**Next chapter will be in the Capitol, though. So stay tuned for some funny stuff. :)**


	36. Holo9, Bell Voyeur

**Sorry for being soooo late. You were right, Mel/Psychic…**

**--x**

"Hello, I'm Harold Raymond, and you've just finished watching the Hunger Games: Day Six. Remember to send in your questions for me; if we have enough space, you may be featured on TGL!"

The camera panned to Bell, who had been watching the games playing behind Harold, but was quick to turn back into her peppy self.

"Thanks, Harold. This is Bell Voyeur, reminding you that we will be interviewing the families of the seven remaining tributes; but you heard that canon. One of the tributes is already gone, but they don't know it yet. It's sure to be our most exciting segment, yet!"

She flashed a brilliant white smile, waiting for the crew to collect themselves for the big finish.

"This is TGL, wishing you the best Hunger Games yet…"

"And may the odds be ever in your favor!" everyone finished.

"Good night, Panem."

A loud bell rang, and all the equipment began to power down, as the crew started to tone things down, and power off. There was still the distinct chatter about the day's happenings, particularly the District Six's death, but it was getting as close to quiet as it had been in a while.

Of course, that was always a signal for Harold to chat Bell up.

"Hey, Bell! You as excited about tomorrow as I am?" he said, slowly walking over.

"Of… Course, Harold," Bell replied, wrinkling her nose with distaste.

"You should be! I put in a word with the head executive, Bazenas. You're covering them!"

Bell was momentarily stunned; could it be that the death glares were finally getting through? It was all she could do to restrain herself from clapping in delight. An opening! This was her chance to get back her old job!

"Err… Thanks, Harold."

"No problem, Bell!" he replied, laughing uproariously, "It gets lonely at the top."

Despite the small kindness, Bell couldn't quite restrain herself from a grimace at her coworker's boorishness. After all, he had treated her with far too much chauvinism in the past to get away with it all with one kind gesture.

Bell smiled daintily. 'Chauvinist' had been on her word of the day app. It sounded nice, and she actually knew what it meant.

Her co-anchor ambled to the door, slapping two of the camera guys on the back, and chortling at some inside joke. That could have been her…

She sighed deeply, before snapping her fingers for her assistant to bring her purse over, so she could go home. Tomorrow _would _be a big day, whether the news was delivered by Harold, or not.

* * *

Hair? _Set._ Makeup? _Yep._ Adorable day-glo-pink glasses from 'Rosier Vision?' _Check._

Bell was ready to face the districts, the Capitol, President Norris, or even that _awesome_ District Two girl, all with her standard pep. Let the _real_ games begin; the media was prepared.

She skipped breakfast, figuring she could take a weight-maintaining pill later, and hopped into the elevator that would take her up to the studio. It was rather convenient, living under the place where she worked.

Cheery elevator music played, and she clasped her rare kangaroo-skinned handbag tightly. The furry beasts had gone extinct nearly five hundred years ago. It had cost a small fortune, even by Capitol standards.

A pleasant _ding_ implicated her arrival at the 17th floor, and she breezed out, clipping down the metal-tiled hall in her tiny, pink, shoes. She would meet with the executive, and, if luck was with her, the president.

Room 113 was the destination in mind, and the solid platinum numbering on the door indicated that she had reached her destination. Amping up her smile, Bell slipped in, hoping not to interrupt anything.

"Ahh, Ms. Voyeur! Do come in, Snow just left."

She was greeted by a jovial voice, though her happiness faded a few notches. The president was gone. Drat.

"Don't look so glum! We've got faith that this assignment will be much," Bazenas paused, looking up from his desk, "Easier. Harold will cover the Capitol citizens. We're sending you by hovercraft to the districts with living… Or _maybe_ living, tributes. Got it?"

Bell nodded. It was a standard briefing. Though Mr. Bazenas, a somewhat portly man with pale pink skin (which suggested that during the dye fad, he had caught on; Bell was hopeful not to get that one back any time soon) and a bit of a beard, was a kind man in all respects, he had a schedule, as the heads of Panem-wide television networks often do.

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, good! Now, good luck, and be sure to make us look good. The Hunger Games is in a great place right now; let's keep it there."

"Of course, sir," she replied, in her most professional tone. Despite her being under fire for the earlier interview problems, Bazenas had stuck by her, even keeping her in the company. She was determined to keep his trust.

"Alright, then," he said, awkwardly, as Bell wondered whether walking out at that moment would be appropriate, "Wait! Have one of the techies give you the schedule on your way to the hovercraft."

"Thank you, sir. Have a good day."

Bell stood up, walking assuredly to the door. The network boss was usually right. If Bazenas said that there wouldn't be trouble, than there wouldn't be. Everything would work out.

A teen in a fluorescent orange suit walked by, holding a stack of papers, and she snapped her fingers.

"You, I need the district visitation schedule for the day. Graph them to Holo-9, for Bell Voyeur."

His Adam's apple bobbed uncomfortably.

"Right away, m'am."

He hurried off, and Bell continued to the hanger, where Holo-9, smallest of the station's large fleet, had been set up. The door was open, and she slipped in, though she tripped over a pile of wires on the door's corner. Cursing (delicately) under her breath, she hastened to the small en-ship meeting console, where a single paper sat on a faux-wood desk. She sat down on the stationary metal chair, and looked it over. Because of small budget restraints, she would be meeting with all the families at once, in the districts that still had both tributes.

_Which_, she thought to herself, as the door closed a few yards away, _could get interesting_.

* * *

**District Two, Kalika Hope and Soren Kailash**

As Bell walked quickly into the cavernous Justice Building, she contemplated the color red. Red was a nice color, in moderation, but, really, painting the whole room that way was just… Uncalled for.

She was followed by her crew of six cameramen, all of whom were filming her, at every given moment. A team of Peacekeepers followed her, though there was not a fear for riotous behavior, in District Two.

On opposite sides of the room, two sets of chairs were set up. On the left, a woman, somewhat frayed around the edges, but with an air of power to her, sat as far as possible from a young man who greatly resembled her. Bell recognized her as Chandra Kailash, Soren's mother. The young man was not familiar, though she assumed he was a friend of the male tribute.

The right side, however, held a completely different set of people. Bartram Hope sat stiffly next to his wife, Bellona Hope. A stern-looking elderly couple lounged several feet away from the two, eyeing Bell with distaste. She couldn't quite suppress a gulp.

"Hello! I'm Bell, from TGL, and I'm here in the District Two Justice Building, where I'll be interviewing the families of Soren Kailash, and Kalika Hope," Bell gushed, beaming at the camera.

Chandra, on the left side of the room, raised an eyebrow at the vigor in her tone.

Ignoring her, Bell clicked over in her little heels, sitting next to Chandra with a pearly grin.

"So, Chandra, you must be so proud of your son, for making it so far," said Bell, flashing an illuminating smile around the room.

"He's a fool. And we don't yet know that he's alive," the woman said, bitterly.

"Well, Soren's supporters wouldn't quite call him that, but there's a good chance that your son is fine, Chandra!" Bell continued, trying to avoid any other mess ups.

"A good chance? No, I wouldn't say that. Joseph could have done better."

Once again, Bell was a bit surprised, but not thrown. She simply cranked her smile, which was already blinding Chandra as it was, up a notch.

"Can you tell us anything about your son? What was he like, growing up?" she asked, slipping in a subtle nod to the camera crew, to zoom to the youth sitting a few seats down, listening intently.

"Soren was always a character. Rude, disrespectful, and rebellious. He never appreciated anything I gave him, or anything the Capitol did for us."

Bell nodded sympathetically, beginning to get into the flow of the interview.

"That sounds hard, Ms. Kailash. Has he ever been interested in anything pertaining to the Hunger Games?"

The woman shook her head, wryly.

"Girls, if you count that. Nothing else useful."

"How would you project your son's chances?" Bell asked, preparing to wrap the interview up.

"Somewhere between 'nothing' and 'also nothing'. I don't doubt that he's dead, as we speak," Ms. Kailash finished.

Trying not to raise an eyebrow, Bell extended her hand, retracting it when the woman did not reciprocate.

"Thank you for your time, Ms. Kailash," said Bell, nodding imperceptibly to the cameras.

The woman stood up quickly, and strode out, not making eye contact with the young man in the other occupied seat.

Bell, however, walked straight up to him.

"I think we have a bit more time to focus on our District Two boy. Are you a friend of Soren's?" she queried.

"No, I'm his brother. Joseph Kailash."

She nodded, the corners of her mouth once again tilting up.

"Are you more worried about your brother than your mom is?" she asked, fiddling with the nearly invisible microphone at the collar of her coat.

"Of course, Bell. I want him to be the one coming home safe."

Bell made a sad face, bobbing her head slowly.

"I wish him luck, too, Joseph."

The youth nodded ruefully, before pulling off his own little microphone, and handing it to a cameraman. Bell sighed inwardly; she had been hoping for a cut-free interview, but he was messing up the shot.

"Thanks," he said, just loud enough to be heard, walking out after his mother.

Bartram and Bellona began fixing up to be seen up close, the man straightening his carmine tie, and his wife applying a coat of red lipstick. The elderly couple looked on in distaste.

"Next," chirped the oblivious anchorwoman, "I'll be talking to the parents of Kalika Hope."

She strode quickly to the opposite side of the room, before settling down in the chair opposite the two grim-faced adults.

"How do you feel about your daughter's involvement in the games so far?" Bell chirped, leaning on the left armrest of her chair, as if preparing for a comfortable talk with an old friend.

"She's been careless," Bartram muttered gruffly. "That fever slowed her down."

"How have you been dealing, without her around?" Bell asked, simultaneously nodding at Bartram's comment.

Bellona put a slim, pale hand on her husband's shoulder, arranging her face into a pout.

"My daughter meant the world to me. I only hope that what we've done for her will be enough to get her home."

Her husband nodded, though behind the woman's eyes, there was a nearly unnoticeable spark of deception.

"It puts a strain on us all, I'm sure. But you must have seen the lots? What are your feelings on the fact that your daughter's chances our projected as the highest?" questioned Bell, who was picking up a dishonest vibe from the couple.

"Of course. We have money on her, ourselves. Quite a lot, as a matter of fact," said Bartram, "Money that we both need to be back at work, earning. Good day to you."

He took his wife's arm, and they strode out of the building, without, Bell noticed, handing back their microphones. Was that legal?

She shrugged, standing up, and joining the older couple, who were wrinkling up their wizened features, glaring at the door.

"Are you the grandparents of Kalika Hope?" Bell asked, hoping for a better interview opportunity.

"No. I'm Mania Odyne, and this is Mantus. Luxe was our daughter."

"Was she a friend of Kalika's?" Bell asked.

Honestly, she had no clue who 'Luxe' was, and was racking her brains for the answer. It only took a few seconds, and she came up cold.

"Luxe died. Even with the best medical care District Two could provide, the internal bleeding killed her before the second night of the games," the old woman, Mania, said, with a somber air about her.

"The first casualty of the Hunger Games," Bell said, matching the woman's sad tone, and adding a false pout for good measure. "We at TGL would like to honor your loss. Thank you for coming forward."

She nodded slowly, and the two stood up and left, though they handed their microphones two a crew member.

"Don't leave just yet, we have five more families to visit! Stay tuned for District Four!" Bell chirped to the camera, rapidly recovering from her 'anguish'.

The makeshift set quickly began to disassemble, and the film crew, Bell included, soon returned to the hovercraft.

Bell took the opportunity presented by the thirty minute between-district flight, to catch up on some gossip about the victor from a year back. Finnick. He was _so_ dreamy, and if she was a few years younger… She settled back into her chair, reading a magazine, as the flight moved by, faster than she had expected.

* * *

**District Four, Maren Ericsson and Actassi Peixoto**

The smell of the ocean was something of a constant in District Four. Not so in the Capitol. Even Bell's nose, what with its altered-beyond-reason state, could tell the difference. Bell hated the salty scent, and though being in the Justice Building dulled it somewhat, it was all she could do not to breathe solely through her mouth.

Which looks bad on camera.

The room was set up in a way reminiscent of District Two's accommodations, though with much less red, and a lot more wooden detailing. It must have cost a fortune, considering the district's proximity to District Seven.

On each wall, a row of chairs were occupied by several people. On the left, were a small couple, with chestnut brown skin, and thick black hair; Meena and Ervin Peixoto, the parents of Actassi, and a fifteen year old boy that Bell didn't recognize from the interviews immediately after the reaping.

Seated to the right were Edmar and Leda Ericsson, who both were of average size, well-tanned, and seemingly prepared for the interviews. Also, a girl and a boy around Maren's age sat a few chairs down from them, looking a bit less confident.

All in all, a good interview setup, if Bell did say so herself.

"Welcome back! It's me, Bell Voyeur, in the District Four Justice Building, interviewing the families of Maren Ericsson and Actassi Peixoto," she said, exuding excitement. Despite the smell, District Four was Bell's favorite. She had even put down a few dollars on Actassi, because Finnick had said to, in an advertisement.

She practically danced over to the Peixoto couple, sitting across from the two people happily.

"Were you expecting that your son would make it this far?" she chirped, beaming widely.

The woman spoke up, in a raspy undertone.

"Ervin, he not speak good. We not think Actassi live so long, but we proud. Very proud of him."

Bell nodded, hoping the microphones were enough to help the Capitol viewers understand the woman's strange accent.

"That is, uhh… Wonderful, Meena. Can you tell us anything about your son?" asked Bell, tilting her head to the side, as if it would help her comprehend.

"Oh, Actassi, he is- how you say? Good son. Work hard. Learn to talk good. He very smart boy," Meena said, tilting her head to mirror Bell, "Is this how you speak, in Capitol?"

The boy in the chair a few feet away stifled a laugh.

"Err, yes, very nice. What sort of work did your son do?" asked the puzzled anchorwoman.

"He was fishing-man. Take care of dock. Fix boats."

"That's a good occupation. Thank you, Mrs. Peixoto. Have a good day," Bell said, quietly, as the aged woman helped her husband up, and made for the door, as one of the crew helped her take off her microphone.

Bell turned to the boy.

"We have a few more minutes. Who are you?"

"My name's Tasino. Actassi was a friend of mine," the boy replied, looking tritely remorseful.

"Oh, then having him gone must be so hard on you!" said Bell, falling for the act completely.

"Yes, we all want him home safe," Tasino sighed, looking down at his toes.

"Can you tell me anything about Actassi?" Bell asked.

"He's always been very quiet. Honestly, no one was expecting him to make it past the Cornucopia, even. It should have been me, or Trafford, or even Havelock. Actassi was nothing."

Bell grew visibly more uncomfortable.

"I take it you two parted on a difficult note."

"Call it… Friendly competition," Tasino said, smiling like a crocodile.

At least, that's what Bell thought. She had never actually seen a crocodile, but she had heard that they had weird smiles.

"Well, thank you, Tasino. Goodbye," she said, looking pointedly at the door.

He stood, reluctantly, before walking out, handing his microphone to a crew member with a scowl.

"Next, I'll be speaking with the parents of Maren Ericsson," said a slightly calmer Bell, clipping over to the other side of the room, to sit across from the Ericssons.

"Hello, Bell!" chorused the two adults, smiling broadly.

"Hello to you, too," replied Bell, sensing an easy interview, "And if I might say, your daughter has been doing very well, so far."

"Well, she's a real fighter, my girl! We just know that Maren can win it!" said Leda, smiling proudly up at Edmar, who put a well-tanned arm around her shoulders.

"Can you two tell me anything about what she was like, growing up?" asked Bell, grinning openly.

"My daughter, she always had her own way of doing things," said Edmar, looking off into the distance, a faraway look on his face.

"And she loves clam strips!" added Leda.

"That's very good," said Bell, nodding thoughtfully. "What would you say her biggest strength is?"

"Oh, she's just the best at everything!" said Leda, as Edmar shrugged assent.

"Really," said Bell, contemplating the fact that these two people were, in fact, exceeding her own peppiness.

"Yes, really," Edmar replied.

"Then, thank you for your time! I'm sure you're both busy people, so I'll let you two go, now."

Their faces fell fractionally, but they both stood up, and left, handing their microphones to a Peacekeeper, who looked like she didn't know what to do with them.

Bell stifled a laugh. Maren must have had an 'interesting' upbringing. She turned to the two teens, who had shuffled over to fill Maren's parent's empty seat.

"And who might you be?" she asked, smiling at the two of them.

"I'm Jay Poole, and this is Nerine Shelton. We're good friends of Maren's."

"That's wonderful! What message would you give her, if you could?" Bell asked, a bit skeptical, seeing as Tasino had only a few minutes ago walked out.

Nerine cut in.

"I'd tell her… That I miss her. And that Jay just isn't the same as her. And that if she doesn't come back, I swear I'll- I'll… I don't know what I'll do."

Jay put an arm around her shoulder, but she actually hissed at him, and Bell watched in bemusement as the teens backed away from each other.

"Whoa, Nerine. Ease up," he said.

"I take it that you two are eager to get her back?" asked Bell, hoping the cameras were getting everything.

They both nodded.

"What would _you_ say her biggest impairment is?" she continued.

"Well," said Jay, "Maren has no sense of judgment. None. The crazy District Two girl probably looks like a frightened kitten to her, and it could get her killed."

Nerine shrugged, but nodded nonetheless.

"Fair enough," said Bell, "Would you put money on her coming back?"

"Yes," said Nerine, at the same time Jay said "Not much." He was backhanded almost immediately.

"She is our _friend_, and we are being supportive!" cried Nerine, giving him a harsh look.

Bell tilted her head again, before deciding that, while Finnick was gorgeous, the majority of the people in District Four were completely insane. Like, run-into-a-machine-of-death-because-they-feel-like-it crazy.

But hey, being hot cancels that out, right?

"Thank you two for your time, and I wish Maren Ericsson the best," Bell said, emphatically, gesturing towards the door, where the teens, glaring daggers at each other, walked off, handing a cameraman their microphones.

Bell was glad they did; the little chips cost the network money that could be going into her salary, and by association, her frivolities.

"Goodbye, District Four!" she chirped, once again entering the hovercraft, in preparation for her trip to District Seven.

* * *

**District Seven, Carden Chaney**

District Seven was much _quainter _than District Two, or even Four. The Justice Building was slightly run down, and most of the houses surrounding it were smaller than even the meanest of the earlier districts' accommodations.

Bell heaved a sigh. Didn't anybody care about appearances, anymore?

Followed, as always, by her crew, she slammed her shoulder into the large oak doors, entering a smaller, shabbier, room than any she had been in recently. Eugh. More wood. Bell decided that she hated wood.

Instead of the previous district's set up, there was merely a small row of roughly hewn chairs situated on the far wall. She turned to the cameras, her back to the occupants.

"I'm now here in District Seven, with the family of Carden Chaney. After this, we'll take a short commercial break. Better make it count!" she said, grinning widely. Two more to go…

Finally, Bell got around to actually looking at the people in the room. A tall, muscular, blonde man sat in the farthest chair to the left, next to a boy, only slightly bigger than Carden himself. He was fidgeting uncomfortably, and chewing on a hangnail. A woman, with glossy brown hair, smacked his hand, and he immediately stopped.

A good set up for an interview, Bell mused.

She clicked over to the chair adjacent to the family, and launched right into discussion.

"Mr. and Mrs. Chaney? Hello, thanks for being on TGL. And you must be Arvid!" she chirped, sticking out a hand, which the little boy shook tentatively.

"Thank you too, Bell. But please, my name is Gideon, and my wife is Yvonne. We're grateful to be here, today."

"Well, isn't that sweet! I know you folks must simply adore your son, Carden. He certainly has captured the hearts of Panem!"

Arvid raised his hand, which elicited a smile from Bell.

"Yes, the gentleman in the back! Don't worry, dear, you can just talk if you want to."

"Oh," he said, grinning. "Mum said I had to raise my hand if I wanted to talk. I just want Carden back, though dad says he's doing really good."

Bell nodded patronizingly.

"Don't we all? What can you tell me about your brother, Arvid?"

"Carden's the nicest guy ever. He's a really good cook, and he's an awesome brother, and he's really nice, and he helps me with memorizing my trees every night, and I miss him a lot, and I wish he was back, and he's really nice, and-"

Yvonne cut him off.

"Arvid, don't ramble."

The little boy turned pink around the ears. He put his hands in a bunch behind his back, and stretched.

"Sorry, mum. Can I go outside, now?"

The two adults looked to Bell, who shrugged Arvid took it as a yes, and practically ran out of the room, microphone and all. Bell sighed.

"How would you two say Carden does in school?" asked Bell, getting the interview back on track.

Gideon looked to his wife, who made a strange hand gesture, and mouthed 'I don't know'.

"Our son is… Very smart. Quite capable. He shows a lot of promise, maybe as a shop supervisor. A lot of creativity, y'know…

He gestured off into the distance awkwardly, and Bell got the sense that they were pretty much the opposite of Maren's parents.

"Would you put money on him coming home?"

The two were silent, not even looking at each other, just at the floor. It was hard to even look at them, uncomfortable as they were.

"Well, thank you, I suppose. I wish your son the best of luck."

They murmured assent, before standing up, and walking slowly to the large doors, where Gideon held them open for his wife, and they stepped outside. Bell sighed again, but not audibly.

"This was District Seven, home of contestant Carden Chaney. Don't look away, we'll be right back, in District Nine!" Bell said, perkily.

She was glad the interview was over; the two had not been the subjects she had expected to be talking to.

A buzzer rang, and the crew began to lower the cameras, a bit more hushed than they had been in District Four. No one liked to see parents so little involved with their children, not even the most hardened cameraman.

Reapplying her makeup, bell walked stiffly out of the building, flanked by four Peacekeepers on either side. A small crowd had gathered outside; though Capitol reporters were a daily occurrence in the earlier districts, it was apparent that it was not the case in District Seven.

The crowd parted to the Peacekeepers, and Bell walked through, unharmed. But she couldn't help but wonder what would have happened if they had been gone. She was the recipient of some hate-filled looks; something she was not used to. TGL covered only unbiased stories, eliminating any reason for it.

Bell wondered idly, upon reaching Holo-9, what their problems were. Most likely something in the water.

* * *

**District Nine, Diane Glenn**

If the District Seven residents had been odd, Bell was unprepared for the malevolence in the faces of the people gathered around her hovercraft as it docked. She wondered if she had something in her teeth; there was nothing wrong with her outfit, which ruled that, as a reason, out.

She internally shrugged. District people were weird. Simple as that.

The Justice Building, at least, was built out of stone instead of wood, which was a relief. Bell really didn't like wood. It gave you splinters; thoroughly unpleasant. Especially with nails as long as hers. It was next to impossible to use tweezers.

Bell was, fortunately, surrounded by Peacekeepers, who were adept at holding back a crowd as small as the one gathered there. She made it to her destination in relative peace. Ha, 'peace'. They were 'Peace' keepers.

Well, she got it, anyway.

The doors were huge, and made of the same stone as the rest of the building was. Twice as heavy as the last set, and Bell had strained to open those, even. She had to be helped by a crewmember, and a broad shouldered female Peacekeeper.

Nodding her thanks, she walked in. The clicking of her heels on the cold tile echoed back on the stone walls. On the far side of the room, similarly to District Seven, four chairs had been set up. Saida Glenn, Esau Glenn, Rigel Glenn, and a shapely girl with large blue eyes, and dark brown hair, who Bell didn't recognize.

She turned to the cameras, smiling as widely as she could. It was beginning to hurt.

"Hello, and welcome back! This is Bell Voyeur, in District Nine, with the parents and… Friend… of Diane Glenn! Let's go talk to them, now."

The cameras followed her, as she walked quickly to a chair across from Saida and Esau, who smiled nervously.

"Well, Saida, you certainly raised a fine daughter! And if I might say, you two look just alike!

The woman blushed; though her red hair and hazel eyes almost exactly mirrored her daughter's, her figure was not quite there.

"My thanks, Bell. It is good to have you here."

Rigel and Esau nodded in silence, the little boy playing with the leather straps on his sandals.

"Can you two tell me anything about what Diane was like, growing up?" Bell asked.

Esau cut in, smiling.

"Diane was always a hard worker. Unlike her _brother_ here," he said, playfully ruffling Rigel's mop of black hair, as the little boy squirmed in his seat, "She spent a long time trying to get to know a bow and arrow, even though she would have most likely been assigned a gun, like most women on the hunting force."

Saida nudged him.

"Esau, that's Capitol thinking. She can do what she wants. No offense, of course," the older woman added, looking, wide-eyed, at Bell, who shrugged.

Meh. Just a bit more for the editing guys to cut out.

"Has she ever been interested in anything, other than archery? Painting, poetry, anything?"

Rigel, in his high voice, added his own thoughts.

"Not 'nuff time, right, daddy?"

His father nodded, wryly, shaking his head, as if to clear it.

"She never had enough time for anything else, really. Not many friends. Just her and the rabbits."

Bell shrugged assent; fair enough. All three people would have to be working to support any kind of family.

"How did she do in school?"

Saida looked thoughtful.

"Well, we don't really intervene much with what she wants to do, but I suppose she did a good enough job in classes. She was never really into it, though. Not her thing."

"Now, I know everyone is wondering, did she have any relationships? I know the tension between your daughter and Hetcher is pretty obvious."

The two looked puzzled, and Rigel went so far as to utter a loud 'huh'?

"Well, maybe not as obvious to you. Thanks so much for coming today, and I wish your daughter the best."

They nodded, and goodbyes were exchanged, as the two ambled out of the room, Rigel dawdling behind them. Bell turned her attention to the girl in the only remaining filled seat.

"And, what might your name be?"

The girl made a tiny choking sound in the back of her throat, but managed to spit out "Cyrene."

"Are you a friend of Diane's?"

Cyrene blushed a bit, turning away.

"I guess I was kinda mean to her. But, well, no one else really wanted to come. And I felt bad, 'cause she had to leave so suddenly. And so did Wilder."

Her voice trailed off, as she stared pointedly at the floor.

"I'm sorry, Cyrene. It must have been hard for you to see not one, but two of your classmates leave. What was your connection with… The male tribute?"

"Oh, Wilder?" she muttered, continuing to stare at the floor, "We were kinda a thing, you know. Once. Difference of opinion, and all."

Bell nodded sympathetically, flicking her metallic gold hair behind her shoulder, and leaning in confidently.

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"He… He said he thought I was stupid, that we were all thick-headed, and he wanted to leave. He said he wanted me to come with him, anyway. And then I slapped him, and told him to go, well, you know…" she stopped talking again.

Suddenly, Bell rescinded her desires to be young again. Twenty-five was young enough, and had a bit less drama.

"Dear, he sounds like a jerk. Who in their right mind couldn't appreciate the Capitol, and everything we do for you? You've got a long life ahead of you, and you'll find someone better. Promise."

Cyrene started crying, and ran out of the room, all but throwing her microphone at a crew member.

Bell shrugged.

"Something in the water, definitely," she said pointedly to the camera, as a few cameramen laughed.

They set back up for the final flight to District Twelve, where Bell could only hope that the locals would be more accommodating.

* * *

**District Twelve, Hetcher Smith**

There were no people waiting for Bell at the stop in front of the District Twelve Justice Building. Everything, even the building itself, was covered in a fine layer of coal dust. No one was outside.

The eerie calm was even more daunting than the angry faces of District Nine, or it would have been, if Bell was paying attention.

"Finally!" she chirped, alighting on the worn pavement, in scuff-free, shiny pink shoes, and freshly applied lip enhancer.

The flight had been longer than the last; district Twelve was very remote, deep in some weird almost-flat mountains, that the Peacekeeper she had asked called 'Appaloosa' or something equally absurd. What kind of name is that?

Followed by her weary entourage of Peacekeepers and cameramen, she pushed open the tiny door, and entered a wholly unremarkable room. Though, she had to admit, there was much less coal dust, a plus that she enjoyed.

On the far end, several rickety chairs held three fidgety teenagers, an older man she recognized as Trahern Smith, Hetcher's father. Also, a very slight girl, with olive-toned skin, heavy black hair, and grey eyes, looked a bit put-off, like she was in a perpetually bad mood, as she gazed through hooded eyes around the room.

"Well, thanks for sticking with us! I'm Bell Voyeur, in District Twelve, my last stop today, with the family and friends of Hetcher Smith!" Bell said shrilly, glancing happily at the camera, her eyes lighting up at the term 'last stop'.

She strode directly up to the huge, towheaded man, situating herself across from him.

"Hello, Trahern! I'm sure you're very proud of your son?"

He grunted.

"Doesn't really make a difference, I got three more of 'em."

The three blonde teens rolled their eyes, and audibly whispered about their father.

"That's a way of looking at it, I suppose. Can you tell me anything about Hetcher's childhood?"

Trahem made a few more indistinguishable noises, almost as if he was thinking. What a shocker.

"Well, I don't really recall much about the boy as a kid. Good worker, though. Not much else."

He settled back into his chair, appearing to be done talking.

"Err… Thank you, Mr. Smith," Bell said awkwardly, gesturing lamely at the door.

Trahem yanked his microphone off, handing it to a broad cameraman on his way out, and closing the door loudly behind him Bell breathed a sigh of relief; people like Trahem were interview suicide.

She turned to the three juveniles, looking for an opening.

"Can you tell me about your brother?" she asked, not focusing on any one in particular.

The tallest, most likely the oldest, spoke up.

"Well, he's a pretty good guy, in general. Not really much else," she said, shrugging, and messing idly with her thin, blonde, hair, "I guess he's easy to work with. But he's a bad talker, and he's an open book."

The slightly younger looking girl nodded, adding her own shrug.

"He can be kind of a jerk about dad, sometimes."

Bell nodded, trying to act interested. This was possibly the most boring family she had ever interviewed.

"He's got a better name than me, and he promised he'd volunteer if I got picked," added the young teenage boy, who looked slightly bored.

The air settled into a dead silence.

Struggling for something to say, Bell fell short of thinking of anything relevant, sighing in defeat.

"What are your names?"

The oldest girl was the only one who answered.

"He's Natch, my little sister is Tige, and I'm Gerry. Hello."

Sensing that the teens were a lost cause, Bell sighed again.

"Well, Gerry, Tige, and Natch, thanks for joining us on TGL," said Bell, her voice unusually devoid of pep.

"Any time," said Tige, as they all walked out, completely forgetting about their microphones. Bell had to bite her lip to avoid sighing. Twice was enough.

She tiredly turned to the last girl, who looked about sixteen, maybe seventeen.

"And who might you be?" asked Bell, smiling thinly.

"I'm Hana Lubomira. Hetcher's girlfriend."

"Oh! Then I'm sure you miss such a wonderful guy. Can you tell me about him?"

Hana paused, looking even more sullen than before.

"He likes the District Nine girl," she said dully.

"I'm sorry, Hana. Sometimes it's difficult, being in the games. But, can you tell me anything about, say, when he was little?"

She looked thoughtful, which was a pleasant adjustment from her air of misery.

"We used to try to trick Mrs. Everdeen into thinking we were Capitol people, so she might give us sweets, like she used to have. We never got one, though. Sad."

Bell nodded.

"Did he ever show any signs of being a good fighter, or 'a survivor' if you will?"

Hana gave a shrug.

"No, he's always been a bit of a goof, though everyone can tell. Like Gerry said; he can't talk. He could never fool anyone."

"What would it be like, seeing him win?" Bell asked quietly.

"It would mean that he was coming back, and that District Nine was dead. Two good things. But I could never watch him kill someone. It hurts to think about it."

Bell put a hand on Hana's shoulder.

"Thank you for being so honest with us. I wish Hetcher only the best."

Hana bit her lip, nodding shakily to Bell, before sedately leaving the room, handing her microphone to a Peacekeeper. She shied away from touching the man's hand, though, simply dropping it into the outstretched palm.

As the doors closed, Bell ruminated about the last interview. She had gained a further facet of insight into why Hetcher made the choices he did. She had learned even more than the citizens would, watching the edited version at seven o'clock.

Not everything she had learned was good.

But in the hovercraft, as Bell skimmed idly through a ragged gossip magazine, it became evident why she was such a good reporter, and Capitol citizen.

She wasn't forgetful.

But that night, as she took a long, steamy shower, and curled up under thousand thread count silk sheet, Bell would not think of Luxe Odyne. She would not wonder if Rigel Glenn was behaving. She would not pray for Carden Chaney to come home, and prove himself to an absent mother.

Bell Voyeur dreamt about being promoted.

Like she always did.

And always would.

**--x**

**And the thanks goes to all of you, especially the following people: Mel, for being psychic, and knowing I'd post late, Maren, for convincing me to see How to Train Your Dragon, and Jak, for inspiring Arvid Chaney. Hugs to all of you, and thanks for putting up with a late author, who had to write this, and a rather long essay.**

**Also, big thanks to whoever nominated Bovine Plumage for a Verita award. It's a huge honor. :)**


	37. Inconvenience

**I'm baaaack! Yay! Almost-ish on time chapter.**

**--x**

**Maren POV**

I heard the canons as well as anybody. But you know what? I didn't care. I don't care any more. So what? So, two people just died. You know what? I don't care. I don't care. I don't care at all.

_Wow,_ the voice inside my head whispered_. You sound crazy, even to me._

So of course, I snorted loudly, and went back to sharpening the biggest sword I could find.

_No, seriously. You need a vacation._

I rolled my eyes, checking out my reflection in the huge cleaver. Meh. I've looked better.

_Kali's starting to look sane, ehh?_ The voice asks, irritatingly.

"Of course not. I'm fine. Just hungry," I said, inadvertently. Was that out loud?

_This is the Huger Games, idiot. Now you need to ask Finnick for some food, or find some on your own._

"Suit yourself," I replied, rolling my eyes again. "Hey, Finnick! I've been abandoned on an island, with no boats. Mind sending me a bit of comfort food?"

Nothing happened. I squelched the voice, and stared at the water for a bit, contemplating how little food had been in the Cornucopia. Hell, some years there's enough to build a freaking fort out of!

The voice was probably about to make some snide remark, but something heavy hit me on the back of the head. Ow.

I grabbed my sword, and whipped around, to see a large silver parcel. Inwardly, I whooped with joy.

"Thanks!" I yelled hurriedly at the sky, before ripping open the paper, which felt surprisingly warm.

Inside, a small basket was covered in shiny tinfoil, and seemed to be emanating the heat. A small box of matches sat neatly on top, along with some strange whit things, and a square of-

"Chocolate!"

I couldn't restrain myself; the other stuff could wait. I unwrapped the four small brown squares, eagerly consuming them. Looking back, I probably should have eaten more slowly. But past me probably would have beaten future me to a pulp for even suggesting such a thing.

Next, I lit a small fire by my side, which was pleasantly warm. I opened up the weird white things, which were surprisingly sweet. I ate them quickly, before opening the last package, which was very warm.

The smell was instantly familiar; mom's clam strips. How did Finnick know? Why did I care?

I was halfway through my second strip when I was distracted by an exceedingly unpleasant sound, and the unusual lack of voices in my head. The last part was actually pretty nice; they were getting kinda annoying.

"Maren. Why don't you tell me what my district partner was doing, away from the island, in a boat loaded up with supplies, being attacked by giant killer dolphins?"

Damn. Kali was back.

* * *

**Soren POV**

Wow, I used to think Kali was a Psycho. She is, too. A freaking Psycho Killer Bitch. And Actassi appears to be too scared of her to do anything remotely similar to helping me get away from her.

All I wanted were some freaking berries, maybe a few provisions and some water. But the fucking dolphins had to follow me the whole way, looking for a handout. Specifically, my hand. In their stomachs. Yeah, I didn't like the idea either.

Then, Psycho had to appear out of nowhere. Apparently, the dolphins were destroying her boat and provisions, too. Actassi and Psycho managed to get the boat away. But by then, my 'cover' was pretty much screwed.

"Soren, might I ask what you are doing away from the island? And where Maren is?" she asked, one eye looking a bit more spazzy than usual.

"Umm," I responded.

Wow. Great time for my reflexes to desert me.

Apparently, it was my fault that we ended up on a semi-deserted island, with a deranged looking Fish-girl, a Psycho, and Actassi.

Yay! Welcome back, Soren!

Psycho asked Fish-girl something, and she put her hands in the air, taking a step back.

"Whoa, Kali. _He_ ran out on _me_. While _he_ was on guard."

I guess Fish-girl was telling the truth, and Psycho turned her death stare to me. I didn't flinch, despite having my arms tied behind my back. Just an inconvenience.

"She's lying," I said plainly, shrugging as best I could.

"I'm not as gullible as the stupid District Three girl you found, Soren. And yes, I knew. All along."

The shock must have showed, because she actually punched the air, a manic gleam in her eyes.

"Hah! I knew it! She wasn't really dead!"

Fish-girl raised an eyebrow, looking gingerly from me to Psycho.

"Wait, so, Kali, what are we going to do?" she asked.

"Exile?" Actassi suggested.

I rolled my eyes.

"Come on, kid. That's what I was trying to do in the first place."

Psycho nodded, and I realized that opening my mouth might have been a bad idea. Her eyes had gone from blazing to strangely clam, but I braced myself. I could still talk myself out of it.

"Look, Kali, all I wanted to do was to find out where you and Actassi had-"

She whipped a knife out of her belt, and, somehow, I think I realized what was going to happen a few seconds before. At least, my subconscious did, because all I felt was falling. Falling, falling, and then nothing.

The nothing was kind of nice, actually.

* * *

**Carden POV**

I still can't believe she's gone. Even more, I can't believe that out of Esther, Franz, Hypatia, and me, I'm the only one alive. It's up to me to take my fever medicine, sharpen my knives, eat my meals, and tell Rhea that Esther's sorry.

Somehow, it doesn't seem quite real. Hetcher and Diane sat quietly, occasionally clearing their throats, or swallowing a berry. It hurt just to watch them. I may be a guy, and a kinda small one, at that, but I can tell Diane _like_ likes Hetcher. I can also tell that Hetcher's a bit scared of her.

Trees aren't this confused. Lucky them.

Eventually, I just stood up.

"You guys, thanks so much for… Well, being here. I mean, you two are really great. But I don't think we can stay in this alliance for much longer. There are just six people left. Sooner or later, there are going to be less. And I don't want you to be the ones who have to kill me."

Diane shrugged, standing up, and handing me the meat and berries in the pack.

"We can find our own, Carden. And, umm, we're really sorry about Hypatia. She was really great."

Hetcher stopped her.

"Wait, Carden. You know we wouldn't hurt you, right? Why not just stay together as long as we can?"

I shook my head, sorta staring at he ground. I didn't want to look at them.

"Can you really say you'd rather kill Diane than me?"

He was quiet, and I picked up the parcel.

"Don't worry about me," I said, quietly. "Really."

They looked at each other, before looking back at me. It was disconcerting, how they seemed to know what the other one thought.

"Okay. But really, Carden, stay safe," said Diane, handing me my two knives off the ground. "We'll take one of the boats, and leave you the other."

I nodded, taking the knives from her outstretched hand.

"Well, goodbye," I said uncomfortably.

"Yeah," said Hetcher, following Diane out of the clearing.

The whoosh of paddles told me they were gone. Gathering my things, I decided that I would be, too. I grabbed the last of the berries from the bush Hypatia and I had frequented, until my bag was bulging with small fruit.

This island held too many memories. Some good, most bad. I could find somewhere else, I was confident. If I could avoid whatever the killer dolphins were, and find a nice, forest-y island to set up on. I could live in a tree, and simply out-survive the others. Until my food ran out. I put my head in my hands.

What was I going to do?

I was alone.

Very alone.

I've been lonely before, when I was home, sick, without Arvid. Mom and dad would never seem to be home, and I would be in an empty house, listening to the people outside go on with their lives.

That was lonely.

Being on an island stained with the blood of my two real allies, surrounded by people who only wanted to kill me, who wouldn't hug me, wouldn't say they loved me? Who would rather have my head than let me go on breathing?

I was alone.

The weight was crushing. The despair was worse.

What was supposed to be a few minutes to pack up the rest of my things, turned into a weird emotional trip, watching the sun set, listening to the strange whirrs and clicks in the water. The anthem sounded, but the only thing I did was angle my head up, watching the faces of Soren, Franz, and Hypatia flash by.

Huh.

Maybe I slept that night.

I wasn't really sure.

* * *

**Diane POV**

Hetcher is still worried about Carden. And I can't say I'm not, honestly. Something about that kid is just so hard not to get attached to. Luckily, we didn't hear any canons for the rest of the night.

We paddled all night, me using only my left hand, still, and Hetcher doing most of the work. The one upside was that we were seeing more of the arena. The downside was that so far, the rest of the arena had not provided any opportunity for food.

By sunrise, we were wet, tired, and absolutely famished.

Hetcher leaned over the side of the boat, easing up on the paddle for a few seconds to look into the nearly fluorescent blue depths.

"You okay?" I muttered, trying to rub the half-formed sleep from my eyes.

"We're going to need some food," he replied, looking back up. "I think we have to stop at whatever the next island we get to is."

I nodded agreement, and my stomach gurgled loudly in ascension.

"Hey, Diane. What's it like, in District Nine?"

Shrugging, I tried to think of a decent reply.

"Well, we spend a load of time in the woods, just sorta messing around. Once you get as old as me, all you ever learn in school are facts about deer, or rabbits, or whatever the Capitol has some bizarre need for. How about District Twelve?"

He looked like he had swallowed something slightly unpleasant.

"My dad's a jerk. School is all about coal, even though there's no way I'm going anywhere near a mine. I'm probably going to end up stuck in a forge for the rest of my life. Or at least, I would have."

Again, I nodded. The Hunger Games were so- well, something. Probably something profane.

We went back to silently paddling.

"Hetcher, do you have, y'know, many friends?"

He shrugged, too.

"Well, I've got three siblings, and a girlfriend, I guess. If Hana doesn't hate me by now. That makes four, huh? You?"

I fidgeted uncomfortably.

"Not… Really. I mean, my brother's a really great little guy, but I think he's too young to count."

He blinked slowly, and went back to rowing.

"Oh, wait, I see something over there!" I said, pointing at a small island in the distance.

We turned the boat towards it, picking up speed.

Suddenly, a large bump rocked the boat.

"What _is_ that?" Hetcher yelled suddenly.

I looked down, to see what looked like a huge log. Tilting my head to the side, I checked the island's forest; the trees were huge.

"It's a trunk. Fallen from the island. I think we'll have to go around it."

He nodded.

"Maybe we should have brought Carden. He'd probably know how to get over it."

I shrugged in agreement, beginning to paddle around the huge shape. Heck, the tree was giant! At least eighty feet long. Carden would probably love to see it, seeing as he liked trees so much. I sighed.

Abruptly, Hetcher grabbed his sword, jerking away from the side of the boat.

"Diane, shush. Lean in, away from the sides. Be very, very, quiet, okay?" he muttered.

"Sure," I whispered back, "But why?"

"I think that tree trunk just hissed."

**--x**

**I'm not **_**too**_** late, right? Sorry, I've been majorly busy. Next chapter should be on time, though!**


	38. Closer

**Chapter: On time. Mission accomplished.**

**--x**

**Hetcher POV**

Right before my eyes, the 'tree trunk' sprouted upward, a giant, bottle-green eye blinking with a huge, knobby lid. I could see why Diane and I mistook it for a tree, at first. The thing was huge, it's skin was knobby and covered in algae and some sort of watery moss.

It had just hissed, obviously, but the two gnarled legs surfacing on each side of it were definitely not something I see on the rattlesnakes back at home. Also, it was eighty feet long. Did I mention that part?

The thing seemed to have weird plates sticking up on it's huge, scarred, back, just a few. They were dull, and the whole thing moved with an air of ennui.

"Hetcher, what is that?" Diane whispered from next to me.

"I think it's a dinosaur," I replied, trying to remember back to a lesson at least ten years ago. "Or maybe a croc-o-dill-ian, or whatever. But it's huge."

"Yeah, I noticed that part," she muttered.

"Just be quiet," I said slowly, feeling the thing's huge eye rake over me, "Maybe it won't notice us."

She rolled her eyes, putting her hand on her bow.

"Hey, do you remember anything about how to _fight_ croc-a-dill-ians? It looks like it's wearing body armor."

The croc-_o_-thing opened it's huge, fleshy, mouth, and hissed again. The multitude of teeth in that thing were _huge_, at least two feet long, and a foot wide.

"I think we have to aim for the mouth," I said, intently not moving.

"At least we have a big target," said Diane, more to herself than to me, drawing back her bowstring, and letting an arrow go before I could stop her.

The huge creature stopped hissing, and bellowed loudly, thrashing it's huge tail, causing waves taller than me to nearly capsize our tiny boat.

"Diane, all I remember is our teacher making a joke, that the best way to get away from one was to bring someone slower than you," I said, though my voice was beginning to pinch with panic.

"Oh my god, Hetcher, I'm so sorry," she whispered back. "I thought that would kill it!"

"To hell with whispering! It knows we're here! Diane, I'm going to paddle to that island as fast as I can. Do you think you can hit the water so it splashes far away from us?" I said franticly.

'Yes, Hetcher," she swiftly replied, nocking another arrow, skimming the water next to the creature's huge snout.

It roared again, snapping at the air, as I set off paddling for the island, praying that desperation would be enough to stave off my hunger until we reached land.

Diane shot again, hitting it on the nostril as she loudly cursed. It turned it's head straight towards us, and with a thrash of the giant tail, began to pursue our tiny vessel.

I swore, too, as she shot again, hitting the water to it's far right. The mighty jaws snapped at the water, buying us a few more seconds of paddling, before she hit it's tail accidentally.

"Diane," I growled, tension evident in my voice, "I thought you could shoot!"

"Sor_ry_!" she shot back, "I don't do most of my hunting on a boat, trying to hit a fucking lake monster!"

Oh wow, I think we had just created an instant television classic saying. Once we were dead it would probably be the only reason the Capitol remembered us.

"Less talk, more killing that thing!"

She huffed loudly, her next shot distracting it sufficiently for it to turn around swiftly, creating a huge vortex. Luckily, there was little enough suction for me to successfully pull the boat out of the spiral.

Another arrow landed next to the thing's head, and the huge jaws snapped again, wide enough to swallow the entire boat whole. We were only about a hundred yards from land, though I was slowing down. The adrenaline was leaving my system, too fast.

Her next arrow zipped by my ear, landing neatly in the thing's yellow-tinged tongue, as it ululated throatily, thrashing again, propelling the boat forward on a large wave.

"Get it to do that again!" I yelled.

She muttered something, hitting the same spot. This time, though, the beast had figured out where we were, and was weaving through the water like the world largest, deadliest, ugliest, snake.

"I'm going to try to hit the eye. Stop moving the boat!" she hollered, lining up an arrow.

"Then we won't make it to shore!" I yelled back, continuing to paddle.

"The freaking thing has legs! We'll have to climb a tree, and you're in no condition!"

"I'm not stopping this boat," I replied, exerting myself even further.

"Men!" she shrieked, taking aim, though her arrow bounced harmlessly off the thing's nose.

Lucky thing she has two sheaths of arrows, because only one was left in her first quiver. She pulled it back, and it sliced through the air, landing with a thud in the dilated pupil. She whooped with joy.

The beast didn't stop following, save to bellow in agony, and speed up it's tail movements.

"It has _two_ eyes!" I yelled, my arms boiling, and my muscles stretched to their breaking point.

"And you don't think I know that?" she screamed, firing another arrow into the water next to the thing's unharmed right eye.

We were nearly to shore, just about twenty feet away.

"Get ready to run!"

Her arrow imbedded in the thing's nose as we hit ground, and she gracefully leapt out of the boat, yanking me after her with her good arm.

The first tree we passed had no low branches, and we kept running. The trees were surprisingly far apart, enough, in fact for the beast to follow- Oh no.

A boulder was close enough to the ground for her to drag me up on top of it, but only six feet up. In easy reach of the lake monster. She vaulted off the highest side, scrambling up onto a branch about ten feet up.

"Come on, Hetcher!" she screamed, extending her hand at the huge thing began to crash through the forest with surprising agility, considering it's size.

I didn't wait, scrabbling up behind her, trying to follow as she dragged herself up the tree, her right arm hanging limp at her side. It couldn't be broken again, could it?

"Hetcher!" she screeched, as a set of jaws snapped shut where my foot had been moments ago. "It can jump!"

_And I _can't_ climb_, I was dying to answer, but sarcasm didn't seem appropriate for the situation, as the thing gathered itself for the next jump.

Diane pulled out her bow, but missed the thing's eye as it leaped again, huge, thin jaws outstretched. I yanked my foot away in time, as she hit the nose. It roared, shaking most of the leaves loose from the bottom branches.

Her second shot was more successful. I made it to about twenty-five feet up, as the croc geared up for it's next jump, and the arrow nearly hit my hand. Instead, it buried itself in the creature's emerald eye, as it bellowed again, falling down as it scrabbled at the trunk for purchase, shaking me loose.

As it spasmed at the foot of the tree, it's serpentine body smashed repeatedly into the trunk, shaking me furiously, and costing me my grip with one arm.

Two more arrows sped into its eye, and nostril, before it finally lay still.

I, however, was anything but still, dangling by one arm from a tree, over a monstrous croc-o-dill-ian that we weren't even sure was dead.

"Diane! Help me!" I called out, trying to keep a firm grip on the wide, slightly slippery branch.

"Hold on!" she yelled back, and I heard branches break as she scrambled down the trunk.

I made a wild grab for the branch with my free hand, but missed. What was taking her so long?

"Give me your hand!" said, reaching up as best as I could, tired, sticky, and incapacitated as I was.

"One second," she replied, dangling her left hand down from the branch above me, "Okay, I'm as good as I can be. Hold on, and I'll try to pull you up."

She managed to catch hold of my wrist, just as my left hand slipped. I heard her grunt at my weight, but I couldn't seem to feel bad for her, dangling from a tree by one arm.

"Come on, Diane, please just pull me up," I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice. I don't really like heights.

"I… can't. You're too… heavy…" said Diane, strain audible in her voice.

I grabbed again at the limb, just managing to catch hold of it with my left hand.

"What can you do?" I asked breathlessly, trying to keep my breathing in check.

She let go, and I felt myself swing in thin air, over the large drop.

"Just let me rest. I'm sorry, I'm just so tired…" said, trailing off.

"Okay," I said, trying to take a deep breath. "Okay. It's okay. Diane, how strong would you say your stomach was?"

"What?" she asked, recoiling slightly.

"Just go with it. I think I know how to get us out."

* * *

**Actassi POV**

I can't even look at Kali any more. Just when I thought she had maxed out in terms of insanity, she killed Soren. Bad enough; he was kinda decent, I guess.

When she swung the knife, there was easily enough forced to knock his head clean off. Again, absolutely disgusting. Maren threw up, and I considered following suit. The poor guy didn't have a chance.

Now, I use the term 'poor guy' as loosely as possible. I would never want to have Soren watching my back. Or, anywhere near me, if given the choice.

But, honestly. Before the canon had been still for even a minute, Kali knelt over the head (gross, in itself) and began to hack away at his jaw.

"Holy shit, Kali, what are you doing?" Maren had screeched, backing away as I was doing, also.

"Making sure_ he_ doesn't come back," muttered Kali, yanking out a somewhat shattered piece of gory jawbone.

"You're insane!" Maren shot back, picking up a knife.

"It's been said," the other girl muttered off-handedly, dipping the grotesque artifact in the lake water. "Pass me some string. Now."

Maren clenched her jaw, but rooted through a small parcel, handing Kali a tiny roll of black string.

"You're sick. And I think you might be scaring Actassi," she said, rolling her eyes, and pointing me out as I shrunk back into the shadows. Or would have, if there _were_ any shadows.

"You say that like I care," Kali muttered, punching a tiny hole in the bone with a small knife, and threading the string through it. "Perfect."'

I looked away as she swung it over her neck, grinning.

"So, Maren," she said, matter-of-factly, as if she hadn't just killed a previous ally, and turned his jawbone into the season's most disgusting accoutrement. "How much food do we have?"

"Next to none. And the clam strips are mine. We'll need more."

"Sponsor situation?"

Maren shrugged.

"I think we're pretty well off. Our next concern is food."

I tried to look nonchalant, but my brain was whirring. I was hungry already.

"Wait… I know they do the interviews when there are eight left, and there are six, now. Is there anything special?" I inquired, wondering if there actually was.

Kali looked thoughtful, toying with her necklace as I averted my eyes.

"We'll just wait for the announcements tonight, I suppose. For now, make a fire and try to find some food. I'll set up the tent. Don't bother me."

With that, she stalked off towards the Cornucopia in the waning light.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Actassi," Maren said, quietly.

I scrunched my face up, wishing I hadn't, either.

"Y'know, Maren? I don't think I'm too upset about missing dinner tonight," I replied.

That was yesterday.

Today, the hunger is all-consuming. Looking at Kali's face, as she sanded her staff, and idly played with the pendant at her neck, I knew that something had to be done.

Preferably, before she turned to cannibalism.

* * *

**Carden POV**

It was really weird, being alone. But as the sun sank into the distance, I lay against the bow of a live oak, wondering where I was. Not spiritually, but arena-wise.

Surely, they couldn't have completely cleared the native wildlife? It was hot enough, and the Oak and Cyprus trees were dense enough, to point to an area in southern Panem, maybe the place that always stuck out on the map. Didn't that place have loads of lakes, once?

I didn't really know, but paid attention to the sky. No one had died, on that ninth day in the arena. I was thankful.

Trumpets blasted the anthem, and I tried to really pay attention to the music, but despite my dull day, it was impossible to concentrate.

No pictures floated in the sky. I was surprised to hear Claudius Templesmith's booming voice, though, and to see his face suspended, in all its orangey-tanned glory.

"Good evening! I'm sure that by now, most of you are running a bit low on supplies."

I self-consciously checked my pack. Nope. Plenty of food.

"Those of you facing starvation will be delighted to hear about what we're planning for tomorrow. That's right! It's time for a feast!" he thundered, his voice contrasting with his grin.

Well, I wasn't facing starvation any time soon. The berry bush was beginning to regenerate, and I could count it as a steady food source for at least another week.

"You would be wise to begin traveling now. Waiting could cost you the opportunity. Good luck to you all, and good night!"

The stars resumed their peaceful glow, and I lay back into the branches of the oak tree, trying to nestle into the folds of the small sleeping bag I had gotten.

I could still feel that Hypatia was not there.

But I could also tell that Arvid was getting closer and closer to joining me.

**--x**

**YAY!**

**I have a schedule for chapter-finishing now, and this story will be done by June fourth. I'm also planning for a sequel, so stay tuned.**

**Huge thanks to all my readers, anonymous of otherwise. I'm nothing without you.**


	39. Lullaby

**Yay! On time, if a tad bit shorter than usual.**

**--x**

**Diane POV**

Well, I just about had the best day ever. Hetcher and I were chased by something called a croc-o-dill-ian, only he says they don't normally get eighty feet long. Rapidly, I'm growing more and more upset with the Gamemakers.

There are at least two upsides. One, being stuck in a tree with Hetcher, even though all he's done is sleep. I keep wondering what it would be like, if his plan hadn't worked. You know what's terrifying? Having your only ally cling to your lower legs as you try to bring your knees up to your chest.

And Hetcher's not exactly skinny.

Yeah, long story short, it involved several incredibly sore muscles, but I got him back up. And honestly, I'm feeling pretty smug about it.

Then there's the other one. The croc-o-whatever underneath us really seems to be dead.

So, I sat there, in a huge tree, staring at the beast, wondering if it was edible. That was when the feast was announced.

"Hetcher," I whispered. "Hetcher, get up. I know where we can get some food."

At the 'food' part, he stirred a bit, sitting up.

"Water?" I think I heard him mumble.

"Not here. We need to get to the career's island. Soon, okay? So get up."

Probably I came off a bit harsher than I should have. Meh. I was _really_ hungry. He rubbed his eyes, blinking them open.

"Hericom," he grumbled, which I assumed meant that he was finally getting up.

I slowly swung down to a slightly lower branch. It was already completely dark, but my eyes were quickly adjusting.

"C'mon down to this branch, I'll help you get to the next one."

Hetcher muttered something incomprehensible, but shakily landed, three feet away from me. His eyes were slits in the purple shadow of the night.

"Okay, next one," I said, once again swinging by my left arm to the branch a few feet below us.

Perhaps he was following me; I wasn't particularly certain, judging the next branch's proximity to the boulder, and the croc-o-dill-ian.

I made my jump, and landed on the slightly muted _thud_ on the huge rock. Then, with a slightly louder thud, and a profanity by your's truly, Hetcher landed on top of me. I bit my lip.

"Sorry," he said blearily, walking shakily towards the edge of the rock, before falling off the edge, directly onto the dead croc-o-dill-ian.

At the noise that issued from behind the rock, I stifled a giggle. Poor Hetcher. The thing was probably disgusting.

"Didja have a soft landing?" I called over the edge, trying to keep the smile from infiltrating my voice.

"Ha-ha, Diane. Now come on. We've got to get to that water. Food. Whatever they have at a feast."

I rolled my eyes, and guessed that he was doing the same.

"You remember where the boat is?" I yelled, trying to look at Hetcher over the deceased lake monster.

"Yeah, about four feet from the shore," he replied, sleep still evident in his voice.

I passed the closed eye (from which, an arrow still protruded, albeit slightly bent by the massive eyelid) and suppressed a shudder. Though the thing wasn't moving, it felt irrevocably _alive_.

"Hetcher? Have you found the boat yet?" I called, circling around the huge, slightly pointed jaw.

"I think so. It's a bit banged up, though, and about thirty feet from the shoreline. The croc-o-dill-ian must have dragged it a bit," he replied, barely visible in the low light.

"I'm over here. I'll help you push it back. Do you see the tracks from where it was dragged?"

I was only a few feet away, when I noticed that, in the wet sand, there were no tracks to speak of. The boat hadn't been dragged at all.

"Here, shove the right end," Hetcher called, gesturing to the small boat in the dim light of about three stars.

Quickly, I decided to keep my mouth shut about the tracks, or lack thereof. Hetcher was still waking up. The 'news' could wait.

We pushed the boat, though the weight was much greater than I had expected. Hetcher could make this thing move, all by himself. I wondered if there was something he wasn't telling me, and resolved to ask him, later.

As heavy as the work was, we made it to the water, leaving a sizable rut behind us. If anything of this weight had been pushed so far, lake monster or not, it would have left a rut. I got the unshakeable feeling that I was missing something important.

But I know nothing about lakes, right? Couldn't the water have wiped away the tracks?

Shrugging, I hopped in the boat, slinging my bow over my right shoulder, half-full quiver of arrows nestled beside it in the curve of my back.

"Do you have your sword, Hetcher?" I asked.

"Yup. Your arrows?"

I nodded animatedly, hoping he could see.

"Then we're set," he said, authoritatively. "Let's go. Could you help me row, Diane?"

"Sure," I replied, though I hadn't slept, and was sapped of energy.

We set off, paddles swishing against the lake, and when we dipped too low, the murky bottom.

"Eurgh," I complained, after the third time scraping green sludge off my paddle. "What's going on?"

Hetcher tilted his head quizzically, reminding me of Carden.

"I think," he finally said, "That the lake is draining."

* * *

**Kali POV**

I hate being woken up in the middle of the night. So when I heard Actassi and Maren whispering, I quickly decided that there would be hell to pay. I was awake, and it was dark outside.

At least, that was until I heard what they were saying.

"Maren," Actassi said matter-of-factly, "The water level has dropped at least ten feet."

"I noticed," she replied. "How long would you say we had until it drained completely?"

"Morning, at most," he answered.

I crawled out of my tent as quickly as I could. As leader, I was supposed to know these things first. Hell. To. Pay.

"What are you two talking about?" I barked, my voice thick and raspy from sleeping.

Actassi was momentarily struck dumb, but Maren stood up to face me. She was at least four inches taller than me, but didn't seem to be able to look_ down _on my visage.

"The water levels, Kali. They're _falling_. Should we repeat the conversation?"

"I've heard enough," I murmured, barely audible behind the distant sound of rushing water, and buzzing insects.

"Well, good," she said, settling down. "'Cause we'd _never_ exclude you, Kali."

I had to avoid snarling. Maren did not have a gift for hiding sarcasm. If it wasn't for the necessity of my own pack, her jaw would join Soren's.

"What do you two intend to do about it?" I asked.

"Nothing," Actassi said quietly, "There's nothing we can do. It's water."

"Would you say it was safe to drink?" I queried, looking down at the seemingly fathomless lake, which reflected the moonless night.

"No. The grass in the part that's already receded looks unsafe. It could be the source of the plague. Probably the places with less grass had lower amounts of plague," Maren answered, shrugging.

"At any rate," Actassi added, "We wouldn't recommend going down there."

I nodded.

"How could someone get onto this island? Would the boats work on that grass?" I asked.

It certainly looked slippery enough.

"Nope," answered Actassi.

Maren looked like she was dying to add a comment about my lack of skill in the area of boat-building. But she didn't. And she would have. Been dying, I mean. I have a very low tolerance for smart-alecks.

"So," I said, trailing off.

"All we have to do is wait until morning," Maren finished for me.

I stalked back to my tent, kicking off my disgusting sneakers, and burrowing into my pile of blankets.

Really.

I hate waiting.

* * *

**Carden POV**

Two silvery butterflies, shining like the moon against the night sky, landed on my sleeping bag.

I awoke with a start, to see them staring at me with large, baleful blue eyes.

"You're just as real as I am, right?" I whispered unconsciously.

As if to answer, they fluttered their lovely wings, making a beautiful trilling melody. I smiled at the noise. It had been so long since I'd heard music.

I outstretched a hand, and the smaller of the two landed, almost eagerly, on my palm. Before I realized what had happened, I clapped smashing the little butterfly into shards of molten silver.

Horrified, I retracted my hand, but the bigger butterfly had already flown to me, still playing its suddenly eerie song.

"What's going on?" I murmured, trying not to close my eyes at the lulling chords.

_Nothing can hurt you, no one can find you. Wake up, little one. Awaken, and we may be free, too._

I awoke with a start. Again.

What was it? Another dream? Reality? I wasn't sure. But the berry bush beneath my tree was being decimated by the silver butterflies.

These ones had glowing, ember-red eyes.

I don't think they wanted to sing me a lullaby, either.

**--x**

**Short chapter, sorry! I'm busy to the extreme.**

**Much love to everyone. :)**


	40. Clock

**Warning: Darker than usual chapter. Enter at your own risk.**

**--x**

**Actassi POV**

I found a tiny, waterproof clock, looking through the few remaining packages in the Cornucopia. The batteries seemed to have been pre-installed, and fascinated, I clicked it on. Digital-looking things flickered to life, and I realized, I had no clue what they meant. Mom and dad had never felt the need to teach me.

Holding the little black prism carefully, I nudged Maren.

"D'you know what this says?" I muttered, showing her the number-type things.

"Umm… Three four six. That means it's three hundred and forty-six minutes past twelve, I think."

We exchanged looks, realizing that the only person who even might know how to tell time, was currently sleeping off a murder.

"Let's just go with that," I said, continuing to root through the package.

Meanwhile, the lake continued to sink, and the bed of grass continued to lengthen outwards. When the clock said five two eight, neither of us could see water, at all.

There weren't any tributes showing up for a feast, either. I was beginning to wonder whether or not anyone would actually come. There wasn't really anywhere good to hide on the island; if Kali was awake, they would make easy prey.

"Maren, do you think they'll come?" I said, looking up briefly from an empty jug of water.

"I don't really know. I hope the Gamemakers have the feast without them. I'm starved," she replied.

The sun began to rise, over the huge purple-y mountain in the far distance. Then, from the opposite direction. Six zero zero on the clock. I gulped.

"_Two_ suns?"

Maren looked, too.

"No, Actassi. That's impossible."

No, from the distance, there was definitely a bright light, growing steadily stranger, and bigger. Spreading to a huge tree, and then the next one.

Like an electric light. Like a candle.

Like a _fire_.

She must have seen it, too, because she started dragging two bags inland, all the way to Kali's tent.

"Actassi! Get the other two!" Maren yelled over her shoulder, and I grabbed one, and obeyed.

Looking back at the huge, yet far-off wall of flame, I could barely make out two tall figures, running. Diane and Hetcher. The only other alliance in the arena.

"It's Diane! Diane and Hetcher!" I called back, dragging the heavy bag over to Maren.

Maren's face contorted, but I could tell she saw them, also.

"Wake Kali up, I'll get the rest of the weapons," she said, dashing back to the Cornucopia, as I felt the first wave of dry heat from the direction of the fire, which was reaching inferno status.

I wanted to jump into the water, pour a gallon on myself, _anything_, but I knew I couldn't. Instead, I ran to Kali's tent, as a fresh breeze momentarily cleared my head.

"Kali! Get up! There's a fire!" I yelled, throwing the caution I normally used to address her into the wind. "You have to wake up!"

She dashed out of the tent, her eyes blazing.

Until she saw the fire. I think that it threw even her, only three islands- well, hills- away from us. From the other direction, a heavily wooded hill, that I could barely see from such a distance, seemed to explode in moonlight, with a small figure running in front of it.

As I watched, it rapidly became clear that a bomb had not gone off. It was a cloud of butterflies. Kali grabbed a staff and two knives from Maren, as I took a small spear. She picked up her sword, doing her best to destroy the rest of the weapons.

I checked the little clock. Six one five.

Diane and Hetcher were getting closer, and so was the blaze; it engulfed an entire island, which Kali and I had passed. The one with the waxy white berries, and the enchanting smell.

Kali stood, in a fighter's crouch, one knife in her belt, the other in her left hand. Her staff was in her right; she seemed relaxed, like she was about to walk into a fish market, and maybe order a herring.

Obviously, Maren didn't want to be that close to her; she stood tensely, holding her sword, and her jaw line so hard, I thought it might crumble up like a chunk of limestone.

In comparison, I felt unprepared, holding a small spear in the face of three enemies, a blazing inferno, and a whirlwind of insects, which as they got closer, seemed to be singing. Slowly, I felt my eyelids droop.

They snapped open, as I felt the island beneath my feet begin to move. A panting Diane had nearly reached the island's border, her red hair full of grit, and surrounding her gaunt face, like a sooty halo. The fire seemed to be slowing.

Hetcher came up next to her, holding his short sword at his side, limply. He looked even worse than Diane, panting like one of the stray dogs that steals fish from the boatmen.

I backed into the center of the island, as the almost empty Cornucopia slid away from us, and an ornately carved table rose out of the ground. No one else moved; Carden reached the outskirts of the island, holding a small pack. The insects stopped a mere five feet away; the music took on a slower, quieter tempo.

All of us stood, no one, not even Kali, daring to run at the table. I could tell something was on it, but not what it was.

Diane seemed to have recovered, drawing an arrow, and nocking it deftly. Hetcher painstakingly raised his right hand, pointing the sword at Kali. Carden flopped on the ground, gulping in air.

"So," said Maren, "I'll be the first to say, this is awkward."

No one laughed.

"You killed Anona," Diane hissed, pointing her arrow at Maren's chest.

Maren glowered at her.

"I had to," she snapped.

The two faced off, moving closer to each other, as, imperceptibly, Kali inched toward the table.

"Hey!" Hetcher yelled, breaking the tension, as Kali sprinted, Diane and Carden close behind.

I waved lamely at Hetcher, like I would when trying to ease Tasino away from me, when he was being particularly threatening.

The District Twelve half-heartedly waved back, looking as awkward as I felt; surrounded by fire and homicidal insects, watching our allies vie for the supplies that could, potentially, save our lives.

Honestly, I didn't really want him to die. I just sort of wanted to live, but not enough to go downhill ten paces, and run him through.

Barely even enough not to just run over to the table and try for some food myself, though Carden seemed to have gotten the best of it; Kali and Diane were locked in battle, while he grabbed a loaf of rye bread, and ran for the butterflies. Obviously, he preferred them to Kali.

What surprised me, was that they parted to let him pass, as he dashed, becoming smaller and smaller in the distance

Diane had gotten her bowstring around Kali's neck, and was still fighting, though Kali was seriously damaging her legs, twisting in her grip like a snake.

Maren, Hetcher and I simply stared at each other. We were too tired, too hungry, and too _unmotivated_ in general to make the fist move.

Kali broke away, but Diane was already sprinting down the hill.

"Run, Hetcher! There's no food!" she screamed, over the humming of the butterflies, and the crackling of the fire.

The hill sloped down, and she picked up speed, dashing across the grass beds, followed by Hetcher. I noticed that they were wearing strange rubber boots; probably gifts to keep them safe from the grass.

They followed Carden, running straight through the butterflies, out towards the mountain range.

Kali stopped, out of breath, at the edge of the hill, where the waterline used to begin. She sunk to her knees, lifting her head back, and screaming.

It was a terrifying, guttural sound. What you scream during nightmares; or would, if you didn't wake up before you die.

She screamed again, her eyes reflecting the fire still raging on one side of the island. Or maybe it was just what she looked like. Shadows danced over her features; her perfectly straight nose, tiny, curved mouth, and heavy-lidded eyes.

"You didn't kill him!"

It was an accusation, ending with a scream, and heat washed around us, the island bathed in an unearthly orange glow.

Maren was the only one brave enough to speak.

"No we didn't! Because we don't take orders from people who score elevens, but can't seem to keep it up! What was that, with Diane? She was going to win! Face it, you aren't the best!"

I drew back, feeling feverish, in the dull sun, and the fire's raging heat. My head swirled, and I wanted to sit down, but I was petrified.

Kali lashed at Maren's head with her stave, but Maren's huge, wickedly shard sword cleaved it in two. She tried again, catching Maren with a blow to the shoulder, causing my district partner to grab her arm, wincing, before striking back, chopping at Kali's head, but only cleaving the heavy black ponytail off the back of her head.

I knew I should… Intervene. Do something. Help Maren. But all I could do was stand there, watching the two slash, listening to the fire burn.

The fight raged on; Maren's left arm sustaining a heavy blow that nearly decapitated it, Kali losing the tip of her right thumb, but barely noticing as her blood painted the ground.

They spun, until the only way I could identify them was by whether the hand was holding a staff, or a sword.

Red light washed over the hill, not only from the fire, but from a red sun, too.

Once or twice, a splatter of blood, or a scream would tell me that someone was injured, but I was petrified. A coward. I was the only one who could help either of them, and I merely stood there, looking terrified for the cameras.

Finally, they began to slow in their rotations, and I saw the extent of the damage. Kali had a deep gash from her cheek to her solar plexus. She was missing her entire right hand, though she had always used her left in training. Maren was coughing blood into her fist, and her nose was smashed, fragments of bone angled sideways, luckily for her.

Kali was the first to fall. Maren followed shortly. No cannons blasted. My paralysis ended, and feeling my legs come back to me, I made a run for Maren.

"Never did think it would end like this," she spluttered, her hand spasming to land on Kali's face.

"It doesn't have to!" I begged, trying to lift her head up, only then realizing that I had been crying the entire time, my face dripping with tears.

"No 'fense, 'Tassi, but I always thought you'd be first," she forced out, before hacking up a small puddle of blood.

"Get up, Maren!" I yelled, shaking her, as her face dissolved into a half smile, and a canon blast.

Grim-faced, I stood. I may have been one of the causes, but the murderer was lying next to me, equally vulnerable.

"Kali," I muttered.

She was smiling, far too wide for one as injured as she.

"Help me up," she said, calmly.

"No."

"So, I suppose you got rid of your silly phobia of me? Good. I hate a coward."

I punched her in the throat, my vision obscured by tears, and blood.

"Go to hell," I spat, stabbing the tiny spear, that had somehow managed to stay with me through the ordeal, into her eye socket.

A second canon blasted, almost immediately.

I stood.

Walked to her tent. Grabbed blankets. All of them. Took them to the shore.

Burned them, and watched the flames.

Walked to the table. Picked up a tiny jug. Drank the water. Didn't wonder why Carden had forgotten it.

Watched the hovercraft come.

Watched Maren and Kali airlifted away.

Saw something fall.

Found Kali's necklace.

Put it on.

Cried.

Threw it in the fire, too.

Coherent thought began to return to me, after several hours. Or maybe minutes. I didn't really know.

The fire started to disappear.

The sky turned blue, again.

I took the little clock out of my pocket. It read seven two four. It was congealed in blood, from where I had sat on it, by Maren. While she died.

Seven two four.

When the clock had stopped.

When her heart had stopped.

When my life had stopped.

When the world had stopped.

When I watched her die. Forever immortalized in a clock.

**--x**

**Bet you didn't expect that!**

**Bahaha, I'm evil.**

**Anyway, huge thanks to Maren, who I just murdered, Rodolphus, for being awesome, and whoever invented cliff notes.**


	41. Butterflies

**Yay! On time chapter. :)**

**--x**

**Hetcher POV**

We're starving. Really and truly. The feast was a bust in the biggest way possible; Diane is hurt, her bowstring has been stretched out, and we didn't even manage to grab the little jug of water remaining on the table.

So, I'm running out of options. It's late in the games, and dragging Diane through a mess of slowly-drying grass and sludge, being chased by a solid wall of silver butterflies, is not exactly the way I was hoping it would go. Hell, I thought I'd be dead in the bloodbath. Shows how good a prophet I am.

The only way I can seem to distract myself from the burning of my woefully underdeveloped calves is to think about the situation. It just so happens that my current predicament is a total moral killer.

I came up next to one of the islands, and to my red-hazed vision, it looked only slightly familiar. All I could think of was somehow getting to the cave that I could barely see through the thick foliage.

Hopefully, the bugs would stop, eventually. Hopefully.

Black rubber boots aren't the best running shoes, but I managed to make it onto the shore, the bugs' melody thrumming through my ears.

Diane's breath was labored, and my own came in the ragged gasps of someone who is not a runner. At all.

The cave did seem to stir some semblance of déjà vu in me, but my vision was blurry with sweat, and I ran blindly through the forest, my only concern to get in through the tiny hole that I assumed was the mouth.

With a frantic burst of speed, I propelled Diane close enough for her to slip through with relative ease, though I myself, being a bit bulkier, found myself stuck.

The thrumming of the butterflies was replaced with an intense pain in my lower legs; only my torso seemed capable of making it through the hole with such little notice. I could imagine the insects, swarming on my bare flesh, exposed by the longish shorts we had been provided to wear.

I angled my hands against the walls of the cave, forcing myself to disregard what was happening just a few feet away, and with Diane's help, my lower body was safely inside of the cave.

All the way up to my knees, the skin was a vibrant hue of red; one butterfly had managed to hold on, its thin proboscis dug deep into my skin.

The pain was all-consuming. I felt myself drop to the floor, as Diane scooped dirt onto the small entrance, effectively blocking any other butterflies.

She likely noticed the bug on my leg, and winced, grabbing it by the silvery wings, and yanking it out. The song began again, seconds before she smashed the offending parasite between her hands.

The haunting melody came to an abrupt end, and the only sound was of our gulping in air.

"Are you… Okay?" Diane asked, gasping raggedly, as if even those words were difficult to force out.

I shook my head, trying to hold my focus on not screaming.

Outside, the humming began to pick up speed, and I heard what sounded like rain, fluttering against the roof of the cave.

"They know we're here," I murmured, slipping into a stupor of pain.

"Hetcher? Hetcher?!" Diane cried, her voice echoing through my consciousness, until even that slipped away.

* * *

**Carden POV**

When I ran from the career island, none of the butterflies followed me. I guess that means that my gift, a can of some weird yellow air, is keeping them away. Or making them like me. I can't really tell, but I'm happy about it.

Also, it smells like wood shavings. I like wood shavings.

Then, there's the bread I got at the feast. There was some water, too, but my hands were too full, with my knives and the bread, to reach across and get it. I was beginning to regret not having tried, though.

As I ran through the slightly damp ooze, wondering where to go to eat my bread, I could practically feel my throat contracting, and getting as dry as sandpaper.

At the first island, I stopped; it was far enough from the humongous fire not to be so hot. I put the bread in my pack, and drunk the last few drips of water from one of my little canteens.

Once I was done, I put the canister back in my pack, only to receive a little silver parachute, with an egg and another container of water.

I smiled. Finally, I was starting to feel a bit better, able to remember back to when Esther, Hypatia, and Franz were still alive, and I got to eat my first egg. It was really good that time. Instead of eating them right away, I put both into my small, slightly singed pack, along with the bread, my empty container, the yellow air stuff, and a few smashed-up berries.

Feeling pretty good, considering, I started to walk aimlessly towards the old island. The one with the spring, and the berries. Maybe some of them had grown back? Maybe the spring hadn't been drained? I wouldn't know until I went to check.

Besides. It was familiar. I wanted to get back to my tree.

To distract myself from all the walking, I hummed a bit, and thought about names to give my tree.

I decided on 'Katie'. Katie is a nice name.

By the time I was back, despite the loud humming that was beginning to interrupt my own tune, I was feeling more like the Carden I was, before the games. Even though the new Carden was still there, he wasn't feeling so sad, and angry. Not anymore.

The sound did seem familiar.

I stopped, and sprayed some of the yellow air, just in case. Two cannons had gone off earlier, and I didn't want to add my own to the mix. It was getting dark, and I really wanted to last until day twelve. That's my age. It's a lucky number.

"Hello?" I yelled, though no one answered. The humming didn't even change pitch.

Probably, it was safe. I held a knife, and the yellow air, at the ready, anyway.

My forehead scrunched up, I pushed through the bushes, trying to remember the way to the spring.

First, I thought I was seeing a mirage. It appeared that the entire cave had turned to water, and was _singing_. I'm no cave expert, but I don't think they're supposed to do that.

I blinked, and the image sharpened. Butterflies. Hundreds, maybe even thousands, all trying to get into the cave. There had to be something in there…

Biting my lip, and hoping I wasn't making a huge mistake, I held up the yellow air-can, pushing my finger down, as the insides began to hiss out, spraying onto the butterflies. I covered my eyes, looking down at the ground. I didn't really want to see a corpse, or whatever they seemed to be flocking around.

Slowly, I uncovered my head, to see the results. The butterflies seemed to be spiraling upwards, like the world's most beautiful, terrifying tornado. Of death.

They seemed to be disappearing, upwards, farther and farther, until I couldn't see a single bug, or hear even a note of the melody.

Tilting my head, I yelled again.

"Hello? Hi? The bugs are gone!"

Part of the ground sort of started to collapse, and I held up my knife, shaking. Just a little. I wasn't scared, it was just a bit cold.

Two arms, and then a kind of frizzy head, broke through the soil, clawing with an air of desperation.

"Carden!" the person (I think it was a girl) said.

"Who are you?" I asked, backing away, and sort of stuttering a bit.

"It's me, Diane! I need you to help me! It's Hetcher!"

She disappeared back down the hole, and I followed her, shimmying down, as dread filled my stomach.

_Hypatia died here…_

"I'm coming!" I said, popping out on the other side.

Diane was crouched over Hetcher, shaking him a bit, and muttering his name.

"What happened to him?" I asked. He looked a bit dirty, but fine. And his breathing was a bit off.

"The butterflies," she whispered. "His legs."

Looking down in the dim cave, I noticed that, indeed, his legs were swollen to twice their size, nearly bursting out of the mid-length shorts he, like all of us, were wearing

One of the butterflies had bitten me, and I hated to think about it… But I'd had to make a cut in my arm, and a load of goo had come out.

And that was just one.

"Diane," I said, "I don't think you're gonna like this…"

* * *

**Diane POV**

I was surprised, but not shocked, to find Carden outside. He was probably the only one, besides me, who understood animals, at all. It figured that he'd be the one to dispel the butterflies.

What really threw me was when he took his knife, and started cutting Hetcher's leg open. What absolutely terrified me was when amber liquid began to pour out.

"How is this _helping_?" I asked, as the liquid began to congeal on the floor beside Hetcher's leg.

Carden grunted, as the leg began to deflate, even more goop oozing out, slower than before.

"They put weird stuff under your skin, and it starts multiplying. Esther and Franz would know, exactly," he said, briefly looking around the cave, wiping sweat off his forehead, and sighing.

"Umm, sorry," I said, awkwardly. "Can I help?"

"My other knife is in that sack," he said, pointing at the little pack he had dragged in with him.

Looking inside, it was full of food, water, and… Yes, there it was- a small knife. I picked it up, and started walking over, as my stomach vehemently objected.

"Can I have some food?" I asked, looking back longingly.

"Sure," he offhandedly replied, dragging the knife through Hetcher's skin, as more liquid burst out.

It was disgusting, but not enough to ruin my appetite. Quickly, I sliced a chunk of bread off, and gnawed feverishly, before finishing, and joining him with Hetcher.

"Will he be able to make it?" I asked quietly, unable to keep the fear from my voice.

Carden looked up, staring frankly into my eyes, a look of utter honesty in his large blue ones.

"I'm so sorry, Diane. I really don't know."

**--x**

**Okay, my thanks to: everyone reading this, for having really good taste (just kidding, but I'm sure you do), Maren, for being blissfully ignorant of her character's death, Mel, for putting up with my horrible tendency to forget to reply, and the makers of Kensington keyboards. This story wouldn't exist without them.**


	42. Trapped

**Not late, persay, but here in any case. :)**

**--x**

**Actassi POV**

I hadn't seen another human since the morning of the feast, but I had a feeling about where at least one person had ended up. It's pretty hard to miss a spiraling funnel cloud of singing silver butterflies.

I dare you to use that last sentence in a conversation.

'Hey, Meena, it's pretty hard to miss a spiraling funnel cloud of singing silver butterflies, huh?'

No, really. Se if you can avoid being punched. Unless you happen to live in District Four, your chances are actually pretty good.

Humor, even a horrible sense of one, was really all I had left. My sponsors sent me a bag of crackers, some more water, and a cup of steaming liquid.

The first time I tried to drink the frothy brown stuff, it burned me. I haven't touched it, since. Despite the admittedly sweet aftertaste, it seemed dangerous, in a sinister way. Similarly to the butterflies that had chased Carden out of his island on the day of the feast.

It dawned upon me, sitting on the desiccated hillside, staring at a steaming mug and eating a cracker corner by corner. I was the last career. Somehow, I had outlasted twenty other competitors, most of whom could have taken me in a fair fight.

Actassi Peixoto, I, the district outcast, was the last career alive.

And I couldn't have been lonelier.

Trees in the distance rustled in the scorching breeze, faintly reminding me of the ocean. Had I really hated it? The sound of all that water, all that life, just outside my window?

Why, now, would I give anything to be back in that same water, which I had so loathed?

Insanity. Plain and simple. With no vessel to contain it, I was carrying eight pounds of Kali's psychotic nature in a five pound bucket. Madness seems to latch on to the survivors.

Obviously, I was bound to make some bizarre choices. One of which was to remain sitting on a desiccated hillside, staring at a steaming mug, and eating a cracker, corner by corner.

Because, as we have already ascertained, I was the last career. And going quite mad. Slowly but quietly.

It was remarkable, the things my brain could invent to amuse me; I would see fish swimming though the silt and ooze (which I'm not entirely sure was a hallucination), Maren backhanding Soren across the face and demanding he surrender his fishing registration (which most definitely was) and Tasino wearing a strange pink dress, dancing on his tip-toes. By then, I was mostly ignoring the images, as my mind had endured enough torture already.

Surely, my entire being seemed to be changing, too? I was without limitations- If I wanted, I could eat the whole package of crackers, and get a stomach-ache.

But it would be _my_ stomach ache, a choice of my own free will.

A heady sense of power followed shortly.

Somewhere, in the back of my skull, I realized that my new 'sense of humor' was only a reaction to having recently killed someone, and watched my first real crush die. You can't kill someone without changing inside.

Not that my brain wasn't rapidly attempting to disprove the statement, of course. And it would, as I sat, staring at a load of mud, on top of a dry hill.

Just thinking.

* * *

**Hetcher POV**

Only slightly more peculiar than waking up in a war zone, is being jolted into reality by the fact that you can't feel your legs.

The already odd feeling was magnified by the fact that my phantom legs, despite being, notably, nonexistent, felt wet.

My first, most obvious response was to gasp for air, blinking rapidly in the low light of whatever cave I had ended up in. I could honestly remember very little about what had happened before I passed out. My legs might have been on fire. Had they burned off?

I looked down, preparing for the worst.

The worst, as it turned out, was noting compared with what I saw. My flesh was hanging off in pink-tinged strips, and I was surrounded by sticky, orangey-colored liquid, that appeared to be coming from my legs.

The legs in question had white swaths of bone showing.

Had I had anything in my stomach, I would have instantly removed it. Just by looking at my injuries. I couldn't even feel them, but I expected that, when I could, it would compare to having said legs ripped off with red-hot tongs, dipped in acid, and reattached.

I gulped, lying my head back, and pretending nothing was happening. Unfortunately, my carefully-laid plan failed abysmally.

"I think he's moving," Diane whispered to someone.

"It's unlikely. I'm not sure how fast that stuff will stop the spread."

Carden's voice, very distinguishable. I wondered why he was even in the cave.

"Will he be okay?" she said quietly.

"The venom might have spread too far. All we can really do is hope he's not co-ma-toes."

"Huh?"

"Really, really, asleep."

I tried to stir, but even the muscles I couldn't feel ached painfully.

"I think he just moved," said Diane.

"That's not likely," Carden replied. "I'm not sure if there's anything more I can do for him."

From the direction of the voices, there was the sound of some ruffling bags.

"Are you sure you'll be okay, Carden?" Diane asked, probably hugging Carden.

"I dunno," he replied, sounding smooshed. "I mean, look at where we are. No promises. We can't seem to stay away from each other, but… Well, next time you see me, you might have to kill me. And I'm okay with that. But I guess I'll have to try to kill you, too. It's all really confusing."

"Thanks for leaving us some water, Carden. I'll try to keep him… Safe… But… I mean, look where we are."

I tried to smile at her emulation of him, but my facial muscles wouldn't respond quite right. All I could do was listen, as the little boy wriggled through the exit passage, and was gone.

Beside me, I felt Diane lie down on the slightly warm earth floor. She leaned on my shoulder, I assumed looking up at the roof of the cave.

"Come on, Hetcher. You've gotta live. It's just you and me, now."

* * *

**Carden POV**

I didn't want to leave Diane. But I didn't want to watch Hetcher die, either. I didn't want to watch anybody die. I never wanted to.

My previous chipper attitude was all but gone, leaving that cave, on the twelfth day of the Hunger Games. We had been inside, spooning some strange medicine into Hetcher during the anthem, though I had no doubts about who was in the sky; Actassi and Maren. Neither had been people I could truly say I knew, but their loss, presumably at the hands of Kali, was felt.

It could have been me, after all.

Trudging through the now-dry residue, I felt a bizarre sense of paranoia. In an effort to quell my growing nervousness, I began, once again, to whistle. The tune echoed, almost hauntingly, off the dried surfaces around me.

Self consciously, I pulled the bottle of water from my pack, and gulped down about three mouthfuls.

Something was _off_, but I simply couldn't place it. The somewhat niggling feeling was bothersome, but I continued to walk, leaving a trail of footprints in the spongy ground.

_Crunch_. _Crunch_. _Crunch_.

I whirled around, to find that the startling sound was my own footsteps. Laughing somewhat carelessly, I continued.

"I'm totally fine. Just alone. It's okay, Carden," I muttered to myself, affixing my eyes firmly to the places I was planning to step.

The ground moved, and I jerked back, seconds from stepping down, when I spotted a small, shiny, pink shell. Bending down, I held it aloft, watching the setting sun sparkle on the opaque surface, before dropping it, and continuing.

Though out of place, it was nice to see something pretty.

Even as I walked, I began to spot more and more shells like the fist, some bigger, a few smaller. A twisty purplish one was almost the size of my hand. I carefully stepped around it, glad to be relatively sure footed.

I seemed to have walked into a bed of shells, all of around the same species. They were very pretty, gleaming against the tarry weeds and dried-out slime.

Quite by accident, I stepped on a vibrant magenta specimen, about two inches across. It split with a resounding _crack_.

"Whoops," I muttered, stepping back as a tiny, dull-grey crab skittered out, waving its tiny claws indignantly. "Umm, sorry."

Suddenly, the bed of shells and algae was alive with movement. Tiny clicks and pops sounded, like millions of little firecrackers, as the shells sprouted heads, and tiny, pincered feet.

"I didn't mean it," I whispered feebly, stepping back and immediately breaking two more.

The miniature army rose as one, clicking their claws menacingly, wickedly sharp and shining in the fading light.

Adrenalin pumping through my body, I zeroed in on an island a few hundred yards away, covered with small, spiky trees. If I ran, I might be able to climb one, and, assuming the crabs couldn't follow, make it to safety.

Pointedly, I didn't move, filling my lungs in preparation for my inevitable sprint.

"Here goes nothing," I said, quietly, before bunching up every muscle in my body, and full-out dashing through the crowd, crushing an innumerable amount of the little crabs.

They seemed to know where I was going, following me as one, as I quickly began to lose the breath that I hade worked so hard to gain control of. I still wasn't even out of the shells, and even more seemed to spring to life with every passing footstep.

Fortunately, they didn't seem to be able to latch on to the soles of my sneakers, or even trying to run would have been an exercise in futility. The whirring sound of tiny feet on bracken behind me was steadily growing louder, even as I tried to tune it out.

There was no denying the fact that I was terrified. Beyond measure, even. Only the most basic thoughts were within reach of my mind, and I barely even noticed when I was a mere hundred feet from the large hill, and picking up speed

My carefully regulated breathing was a lost cause. It came in ragged gasps, frantic gulps, as sweat began to drip down my forehead, into my eyes. Even with skewed vision, I could see that the closest tree had no suitable branches; the next was an equally unlikely prospect.

I had to keep running. No question. Just running.

The third tree, I didn't even turn to as I passed. Its lowest branch was several feet above my head, and I had no time to try to improvise. The fourth tree looked possible, but the _clickity clack_ of angry crabs behind me was increasing steadily in volume.

Unquestioningly, I grabbed the thorny branch, bare-handed, wincing only slightly at the pain, trying to pull myself up. My shoes found purchase, but I wasn't nearly high enough up. The next branch was easy, only two feet up, but I could hear the crabs reach the tree, beginning to swarm around the base, trying to find a way up.

My hands cracked open, staining the next branch crimson as I managed to climb it, on to the next one, and next one, until I was a good twenty-five feet up, and realized that my palms were torn to shreds.

The adrenaline left my body as I tried to staunch the blood with my shirt, staining it in the process, wincing. The Carden from the games, the boy I didn't want to be, had taken over, and I felt my old self warring with him for control.

Beneath me, the danger seemed temporarily abated, as the crabs slowed their clicking, and a few even retreated into their shells.

I was safe, for the moment.

Safe, but trapped.

**--x**

**Sorry for the slight delay, it **_**was**_** scheduled, though. The next will be fully on-time. Have you checked out my new poll, yet? Just wondering how many people would like to see a child of the victor type person.**

**Yes, there will be an epilogue about how the victor changes after the games, and how it affects their family.**

**Much thanks for everyone who stuck with me. Forty-two chapters! Whoa!**


	43. Escape

**Weird schedule lately. **

**X.X **

**Apologies for lateness.**

**--x**

**Diane POV**

It was nearly impossible to tell what the time was, in the cave with Hetcher. Only my stomach, telling me when I was hungry, growling against my ribcage when I could do nothing to satiate it.

Hetcher lay in the center of the cave, breathing shallowly. He was only remotely receptive when I would stand up from my attempts to enlarge the hole at the side of the cave, and dribble a bit of Carden's precious water into his mouth.

The sweltering heat of the day and piercing cold of the previous night were hard to forget, in the cave, where temperatures lingered far longer than they had a right to. When it grew almost unbearably cold, I draped myself over Hetcher, trying lamely to keep him warm. No one had any supplies left, and even as I felt what little warmth I maintained seep into Hetcher's cool body, I bit my lip, thinking of how horrible it had to be for my little friend, who was, no doubt, in a tree, somewhere.

As morning slowly brought heat into the cave, I was, at first, thankful for relief from the racking shudders that began to overtake me in the night.

I realized soon that the heat was a curse, rather than a blessing. The aching cold had certainly been horrible, but inside the cave, the dry heat was like standing in an oven. A large oven, with your only ally immobilized inside of it.

Obviously, I was powerless to stop the heat.

"Hetcher, y'doing okay?" I rasped, sloshing about a quarter cup of water through my mouth, trying to make it last longer.

Sadly, I had reached the point where I talked to him almost incessantly, even though I knew full well that if he was going to answer, it wouldn't be just because I kept talking. I would need adequate medical supplies, but so far in the games, they would be somewhere between 'unobtainable' and 'really unobtainable'.

Shaking my head, I dragged myself out of the cave, trying to reach the old spring with as little effort as possible. I hadn't yet checked it, though I had doubts about how much water I could expect to see.

The amount at the bottom of the once-bubbly spring surprised me pleasantly; I let out a hoarse whoop, reaching down to splash a bit of the crystal clear contents. My hand hit something solid and cold, and I swore.

Ice. Not water.

Back in District Nine, we could never afford ice. The richer land owners and tanners could, during the fall, at least. We just ate what we had when we had it.

The whole concept was rather foreign, but I was too thirsty to consider giving up.

What did you do with ice? I understood that you put raw meat on it, and that makes the food not go bad as fast. And I knew perfectly well that ice was also water, which you can drink. That was what excited me.

I sat on my hands, rocking back and forth, biting my lip. Something had to give. They needed to keep us alive, if we were going to slaughter everyone else, right?

Hetcher's sword.

It its state of need, my brain quickly conceived a plan so completely moronic that there was no way the Capitol had thought of it. I dashed back to the cave, barreling through the recently enlarged entrance.

There was the sword, lying, forlorn, by Hetcher's hand.

Without thinking, I snatched it up, full-out running back to the frozen spring, holding the ungainly sword above my head. Grimacing, I tried to shield my face with my shoulders while holding the blade outstretched.

Contemplating only the water, I put all my muscle into the swing, bringing the blade down on the icy surface.

A crack spread across the smooth surface, with a tiny _chink_.

"That's it?" I indignantly cried, dropping my arms to my sides

Suddenly enraged, I raised the sword again, grunting with the effort, and slammed the blade, over and over, into the ice. I was just so angry. About everything.

My sore muscles couldn't take the stress for long, and I collapsed, panting, on the ground, the world swimming before my eyes. Blearily, I extended my arm, digging around, my bruised fingers closing on a chunk of ice the size of my fist.

Profusely sweating, I held it aloft, the crystalline surface refracting the beams of the sun into my face, until I had to lower it.

Dewy beads ran down my arm, and I licked them off, grinning. Water! I'd done it!

"Hetcher! I've got it! I have water for you!"

Grasping the chunk of ice like it was solid gold, I limped as quickly as I could to the cave, protectively shielding my prize from the rock and dirt.

He was still there, breathing slowly. I held the ice over his mouth, as more water began to trickle down in the heat that seemed to be emanating from the earth itself.

My tears of relief mixed with sweat on my face; he seemed to be swallowing. With utmost care, I tore a large piece of my shirt off from the side, wrapping the ice up, placing it beneath his head, like a crude pillow.

"I'll be right back," I promised, returning to the spring, jamming little shards of ice into my own mouth, delightedly crunching them.

As water flowed back into my mouth, I could feel myself growing tired, hungry, and sore; all things I had been neglecting in my thirst.

Despite everything, I couldn't wipe the goofy grin off my face. I'd actually done something right. I'd helped Hetcher. Maybe some citizens could pool their assets?

Maybe Hetcher didn't have to die, now at least?

No matter what the answers, things were looking up.

* * *

**Actassi POV**

Something terribly interesting must be going on elsewhere in the arena, because it's been two days, at least, since anything has happened to me. I got some water from my sponsors, and I've dug up a few roots in the lightly forested area.

They were bland, pretty much like my existence. Also tasteless, though I can't entirely call myself that.

It felt like I spent weeks, sitting at that hill, but I forced myself back to the tent when it began to grow dark. Despite my plans of action, I inevitably fell asleep, before I could begin to conceive one. Thus, I woke up disappointed, wishing I had actually _tried_ burrowing out of the arena with the blade of a short sword.

At least it sounded fun.

Lethargy for the sake of lethargy is overrated.

I sighed exaggeratedly, wishing for a second that something would actually happen. Remembering where I was, I quickly rescinded the request. With no one around, it was easy to forget myself, lose my mind, anything.

My old self was in there, struggling against my new exterior, silently blaming the Gamemakers for everything. All the years spent silent were winning, though. I was being controlled by District Four, even as far away as I was sure I was.

They had followed me. I didn't quite know how, but stubbornly, the oppression had followed me.

Quickly, my moment of clarity crumbled under the weight of the silence. I wasn't supposed to win, just put on a good show. It was all my life was really good for.

Back to normal. I was normal, again. Average to every extreme.

Shaking my head, as if that would help to clear it, I stood up, looking back from the cracking shellac of mud at the base of the hill. I gulped some of the lukewarm water from the silvery canister at my hip, and considered where I should sit next.

The hairs on the back of my neck began to perk up, and I whipped my head around. The island was still completely vacant. Even the Cornucopia had not returned since the feast.

Just in case, I hopped over to where my javelin lay, and grasped a curved knife that had dropped from Maren's body.

I had to bite my lip at the memories from the knife, but held on. Survival was my momentary priority.

Everything seemed normal, and I turned back to the task at hand, albeit armed. Something _was_ wrong. Very wrong. But I was too lost in my own skull to see it. Deep in the bottom of my pack, I dug out a leathery piece of beef, no doubt the last from a time almost forgotten.

Had it only been thirteen days? Or was it fourteen? I had lost count.

A branch behind me broke, and I whirled around again. My knife hand shook, but only barely. I knew full well that, with the noise, my brief time of total solitude was over. When I did see her, though, I had to blink, rubbing my eyes, wondering if I was dreaming.

There she was, standing a hair over five feet tall, smiling in the way that she usually reserved for my father.

"_Mom_?"

* * *

**Carden POV**

Sleep seemed useless, but it came, anyway. As restful as anything can be when you're stuck in a spiky tree, surrounded by little pink crabs, I guess.

What finally roused me were two medium sized packages, one landing on my face, one on my stomach. My eyes snapped open, and I jolted uncomfortably back into being awake.

"Huh?" I muttered, trying to sit up, but ending up hitting my head on a small patch of thorns. "Ow!"

Suddenly frantic, I grabbed the branch to avoid rolling off, breaking my newly-formed scabs clean open. I winced, gnawing on my lower lip. It really hurt.

I blinked away the tears forming in the corners of my eyes, carefully opening the first silver package. I couldn't quite avoid getting blood on the paper, but when I saw the contents- a thick pair of gloves, I carefully slid my hands inside, smiling broadly at the soft material, which immediately soothed the aching in my hands.

The smell seemed almost medical, so I assumed there was some sort of medicine. It must have cost a whole lot, but I was really happy. I nearly forgot to open the next package, which was about the length of my forearm.

Though it was harder in the gloves, I was in to hurry to take them off. Inside the messily torn silver wrapper was something much harder and lumpier, under another layer of plastic.

Slowly ripping that one back, I found a small wooden ark, with a weird rod down the center, and ten little arrows, though they weren't feathered like Diane's had been. I set the weird crescent-wood thing down, and looked at one of the sticks.

Experimentally, I held it like a pencil, leaning down over the side of my branch, gulping at the drop, and the piles of iridescent pink shells. I angled my arm back, sort of like I'd seen the really big career from District One do when he threw spears, and aimed for the biggest pile.

The little crabs instantaneously swarmed out of their shells, waking up their neighbors as they moved, until the whole mass of them covered the ground, looking for all the world like the ground had gone all sparkly and pink.

They seemed to realize that the little bolt wasn't a crab, and encased it, until I couldn't even see it any more. It was like when a tree is falling, on someone. You can't look away, it's so terrible.

Finally, they retreated back into their little piles, the stick completely gone, metal tip and all.

I swung as best I could back up on top of my branch. Thank goodness I hadn't tried to get down while they were distracted. Unless they were farther off, I'd have no chance of even making it a few yards.

My brows knitted together, and I noticed something about my discarded bow-looking thing. It seemed to have a slot, just the size of one of my little bolts. I stuck one in, a quizzical expression across my face, and it clicked in a perfect fit.

What could it do? Maybe the crescent thing worked like a bow. I swung back down, trying to hold it like Diane held her bow, and hit a spot about fifty feet from the tree, The crabs seemed to sense it, once again swarming over, encasing the little projectile, which seemed to dissipate under such a great weight of numbers.

My bow didn't feel quite right, so I angled it sort of horizontally, trying again, hitting something in the distance, so far away I could barely see the little brown shaft.

The crabs rose as one, following the ground's vibrations, until they had retreated so far that twenty feet of ground was showing, completely free of the translucent pink shells.

A plan began to form, something that could get me away. I could still live.

Flipping back onto the branch, I began to pack my water, the little bits of food I had left, and a few thorns that I was able to break off of the tree, having earlier hoped that would prove useful.

I swung the little bow under my arm, preparing for my descent.

Despite what I told myself, over and over, escape would not be easy.

**--x**

**Sorry for two chapters ending with the same POV, I like to mix it up a bit, usually.**

**Big thanks to all ****of my readers, and I'm just wondering, who do you **_**think**_** will win? Not want, just think. I'm not quite sure, myself.**

**Also, what in the last chapter made you think Actassi was dead? A lot of people thought that, and I hate giving misconceptions about what's going on.**

**Much love! 3**


	44. Interlude

It was nearly midnight, and only one house in the whole of the mysterious 'SouthFlorida' still had it's lights on. Five figures were clearly silhouetted against the thin curtains, and voices could be heard from behind the windowpanes, even against the eerie thrum of mosquitoes in the bushes.

Inside, a teenage girl, about sixteen, sat in an uncomfortable looking black armchair, leaning against one of the sides with a distinct look of utter exhaustion.

"Now look, you guys, I'm really sorry, but finals are coming up. I've got to study, and I have another essay due in just a few days. I am _seriously_ overloaded. What would you say to a hiatus?"

Four fictional characters have never made so many noises of protest. For indeed, the four other figures were a long limbed redhead, lounging on a tan loveseat, a small blonde boy, on an equally small wooden stool, a slightly larger boy, about fourteen with a dark complexion, seated on a matching tan sofa, just a few inches from a much taller, well-muscled blond boy.

"You _can't_ put us on hiatus!" the redhead stated vehemently, her eyes blazing. "I don't know what's going to happen to Hetcher!"

"I'm stuck in a tree!" the little blonde chimed in, "I can't hang on there much longer!"

The others clamored, too, all voicing their separate opinions on why Clara should not do the unthinkable.

"Look," said the author, who you may have guessed by now was Clara herself. "This isn't working. How about I cut you guys a deal?"

"We're listening," said the dark boy, leaning in with piercing dark eyes.

"Okay. I'm going to update a bit slower. I'm already working on the next chapter, but the going is slow. I'm still finishing by June fourth, okay?"

The taller blonde boy tilted his head, his mouth curled into a grimace.

"Umm, guys? Y'know, I don't think I'm going to last much longer. So, well, I kinda like the idea."

The redhead shrugged.

"Hetcher has a point," she mused, toying with a strand of her hair. "just so long as you _do _update."

The rest murmured assent, though the smallest boy still looked rather angry.

"Just so I get down from the tree," he said, plainly.

Clara nodded, a look of melancholy across her face.

"One way or another, Carden. One way or another."

* * *

The readers, who had been observing the scene, nodded. They were appeased, and put down their flaming pitchforks, and the like. A few muttered something about not having any fun, but most went home, simply happy that Clara was updating some of her old, old, horribly written intros.

In fact, she recently uploaded a better version of Paris's. She called after the readers, recommending that they check it out.

The night returned to it's state of peace, and the fictional characters disappeared from the blue, white-trimmed house in SouthFlorida.

All was well.

**--x**

**Seriously, y'all. I love you to pieces, but I am weighted down under all my homework and the like. Please, though, go back and check out chapter one. It is shiny, and long, and full of lots of interesting stuff about Paris.**


	45. Perseverance

**Better late than never, right? At least I let you know!**

**-x**

**Actassi POV**

"Is it really you?" I asked, my voice coming out more of a squeak than I'd been meaning.

Something about her seemed to change, like ripples moving across her skin. I frowned.

"Mom, are you really, well, _mom_?"

She nodded silently.

I bit my lip. It seemed impossible. There was no way my actual mother would be allowed in the arena. But it was hard, for my beleaguered mind, to accept that it could be a hallucination.

_Hallucinations don't break twigs._

"Why are you here?"

She rippled again, before gesturing behind her. I was supposed to follow.

"I think I should stay here," I said blandly.

The ripples, and she gestured even more frantically. Most likely, I was hallucinating, again. My brain mused over the suggestion. How could I justify that? She was already walking away. I had no time to make the choice.

"Wait up!" I called, grabbing my parcel, not even taking the time to pick up anything other than the short knife already inside of it.

In my haste, I disregarded direction, though I could barely have been able to decipher my location, had I been trying. Everything, of course, looked different without water. I had only the steady crunch of her footsteps to guide me in her general direction.

Blindly, I ran even faster; she was moving very quickly, though the tiny amount of sludge beneath the desiccated bracken still tugged at my sneakers.

"Hey, mom!" I yelled, my only indication as to her whereabouts being the crackling of the parched soil.

I had never run, or boated, so far in that particular direction. Not even with Kali. Though the sun beat down like the heating mechanism in a cod smokehouse, every island seemed darker. One covered with waxy-leaved trees, and claw like roots. Another, almost too small to qualify as an island, nothing but sparkling black sand.

Even if I had time, I wouldn't have stopped at either. But the desperation to see the apparition appearing as my mother lent wings to my feet.

I could have sworn I saw the sun drop just a fragment in the sky. Panting, I began to slow down. Only then did I realize that the sounds that I had been following; the crunching of leaves, the shifting of silt, were gone.

Something rustled in a shadowy shape ahead of me, and I jumped.

The air was pitch black. The sun had been abruptly turned off.

What had happened? Did I really run that long? No, my calves were not nearly sore enough. The Gamemakers.

Even they couldn't change the time of day. Right?

There it was, again, a faint rustle. Not from the darkness in front of me, though. Above me.

Something wet, but too viscous to be rain, _slupped_ sickeningly onto the back of my neck. I felt it with my fingers. They came back dark, though I couldn't see colors in such an abysmal night.

Slowly, I began to tilt my head back, looking up above me.

I immediately wished that I hadn't.

Running would have been easier.

* * *

**Hetcher POV**

Behind my blinding haze of nothing, I could feel the gelid water as it trickled past my lips, and Diane beside me, slowly breathing.

I had thought that by then I would know what terror was. Watching Diane shudder in the bottom of a boat, feeling the girl from Two's eyes rake over me, being trapped between a cave and a silvery cloud of death.

Terror was being alone.

Before my injuries, I had been many things, in many stages of consciousness. The moments when I could sense Diane's absence were the worst of my life. She was risking her life for some water, and I was lying in a cave, barely breathing.

Role reversal, in all honesty, sucks.

Today, though, I saw light. For the first time inn what felt like years. Coming from the corner of my vision, so far off that I could barely even see it peripherally. But it was there.

"Hetcher? _Hetcher_!"

* * *

**Carden POV**

Come on. Come on. Come on.

The courage I'd felt the day before was gone. Full, warm at last, I'd fallen asleep. But who was I kidding? For the first time in the arena, I dreamed.

_Someone was singing. Their voice, though imperfect, was human. Human, and reminiscent of my father's._

_It echoed beautifully through the trees, the woods near my home._

_The song was a simple one; no one was quite sure how they knew it. But I had sung it to Arvid, and I must have heard it from someone. Maybe it was the singer?_

_Axes spin_

_Trees fall down_

_Chop, chop, chop!_

_Woody bark_

_Dry and brown_

_Chop, chop, chop!_

_Dancing leaves_

_Whirl 'round too_

_Chop, chop, chop!_

_In the sky_

_Big and blue_

_Chop, chop, chop!_

_It was silly, young, and funny. All the things I missed about myself. Leaves fell in slow motion on the wind, like in the song._

_Arvid should have been there. Mom should have been there. The scene darkened. The woods were quiet. The birds stood still. They waited for something._

_I couldn't be patient like them. Before the dying trees could catch my shoulders, I ran, pushing through brambles. The song began again; eerie and haunting in the empty forest._

_A strange wall of foliage sprung up before me, and I had to stop. I wasn't even tired, somehow. Slowly, I pushed through. The vines fell away, revealing a horrible scene._

_A little boy, reminding my painfully of Arvid, covered in lacerations, lay in the center. He didn't move. The song crescendoed, as I realized that the dead boy was not my brother._

_He was me._

_The pale lips twitched, and in a grisly finale, the corpse finished the song. The scraping sound of tiny claws on the forest floor filled the sudden silence…_

Gasping, I snapped back into reality. I nearly upset my small bottle of water in my haste to gulp from it, to stop the sore feeling, building in my throat.

I was safe, if you could call my perch 'safe'. I wasn't dead. Neither was Arvid. Neither were Diane and Hetcher.

In all likelihood, Kali wasn't either. I shuddered; there was no way the two Fours could have bested her. No way. It was a shame we hadn't seen the sky that night, though. It would be nice to be sure.

Safety. I couldn't stay safe in the tree. I had to get away from the crabs. The tiny pink shells still littered to forest floor, and I chewed berries in a frantic attempt to calm my nerves.

The tree wasn't safe, and I needed to leave. Already, the nightmare was fading. Already, my resolve was forming. I was going to get down. That very same day, I would find the cruel career, and… I swallowed, hard. Though the crossbow lay against my leg uncomfortably, I couldn't make myself plan ahead that far.

Instead, I diverted my attention to other things. I thought of Hypatia; in the training center, she had told me about a life beyond life. It really didn't make sense, but she had seemed to understand it. I wondered if Hypatia was alive, somewhere. It seemed unlikely, but the whole soul thing seemed believable. A person is so human… So them self. How could that die?

My backpack slung onto one shoulder, I held the crossbow, breathing deeply. I had, at most, three shots to get the angle right. Esther or Franz would have been able to do it in a pinch, but I was alone, now. The thought niggled at my conscious.

I might not be alone much longer.

Quietly, I set a little stick from the pouch in place. Then, on a whim, I replaced it with a little branch I had broken from the tree. I had to conserve the bolts, right? It seemed perfectly straight. In hindsight, I broke a few more off, stuffing them into the pouch, aiming the instrument far into the direction I intended to run from.

_Schwishck_.

The noise seemed to awaken the living layer of writhing crabs. As one, they surged off towards the noise, though I couldn't see the shaft at all, any more. It had to be enough.

Gloves one, I swung down nimbly, biting my lip as the material, however soft and squishy, bit into my wounded hands. Speed, however, was key. My feet hit the ground with a soft thud, though it must have been louder to the crabs.

I loaded another projectile and shot it off in the opposite direction, not even bothering to aim.

_Schwishck_.

The tide of grey and shiny pink must have surged after it, because the whirring noise briefly increased in volume, a sickening parody of the sound in my dream. My heart seemed to drop into my stomach, and I ran.

It was the sound. And it was getting louder. I must have hit a tree.

My feet pelted the packed earth, sloping down to the barren field of decayed lake vegetation. I didn't slow down, feeling the force of acceleration push me on. The din stayed at the same level. They hadn't yet found me.

I had to pay attention to the grass, which was difficult to do while simultaneously loading another bolt, fumbling with the pouch. Silently, I begged my fingers to work, carefully loading, and firing.

_Schwishc_k.

As my shoes, soaked with sweat, began to flop around like wet leaves in a windstorm, I slowed. I had fired two more bolts. Only four of the sharp ones, and two twigs were left.

The crabs were gone, though.

I wasn't safe. As darkness suddenly fell, like a ton of metaphorical logs, I was cold, too. I was running low on weapons, and strange sounds emerged from the black zone beyond my vision, causing my to, subconsciously, shiver.

But I had escaped. By myself. I felt my back straighten, and I loaded a real bolt.

_Bring it on_.

**-x**

**Thanks to ALL of you, for sticking with me on this.**

**Just thought I'd let you guys know, there's something going on in cyber space. **

**Go check out Writing2StayHalfSane's forums; nominate your favorite fanfictions, there's a category for **_**everything**_**!**


	46. Mutt

**Late, but could be worse. :3**

**-x**

**Diane POV**

Hetcher wasn't dead. He was not alive, either.

_Don't get your hopes up, Diane._

I remained unsure of what was going on with his legs, and I couldn't bring myself to check. Besides, he was conscious. That meant he was recovering.

_Too late. They're already up! They're sky high!_

It wasn't my imagination, the sudden nightfall. I could only hope that the tribute who's demise had been planned was not me. Or Hetcher. Or Carden. Heck, I was hoping it wad whoever was left. Probably the District Two girl, by the looks of things.

What would happen to the last three?

I cursed quietly, leaning back on Hetcher. Maybe it would be for the better if he didn't…

Traitorous thoughts. No can do, Diane!

Again, I muttered an expletive. How had I not considered what I would do if it came down to me and Hetcher? Was I _hoping _he would die? What if Anona was still alive? Would I already have plotted a way to get rid of her?

The night was playing havoc with my mind. The games were destroying any sense of logic I had possessed. I leaned back again, trying to sync my restless breathing with Hetcher's shallow but consistent rhythm.

He would be fine. The same could not be said for my sanity, unfortunately.

I gnawed my lip. Hungry. A bad sign, considering we had no food. Tensing my forehead with effort, I wriggled out from under Hetcher's limp arm, smiling in his direction. I knew he couldn't see me, but I hoped he somehow was getting the message.

Picking up my bow, and the last three arrows, I crept out, the air frigid and uncomfortably still. Something big was happening, but nowhere near my position. I was torn between relief at my own safety, and fear for Carden.

I felt my neck tense up again, and tried to recapture my breathing. Carden could take care of himself, right? I couldn't help him, no matter where he was. I settled on relief, scooping a chunk of ice from the frozen spring, feeling my hands go numb.

Halfheartedly, I chewed on a little shard. I needed protein, bad. My muscles were destroying themselves before my eyes.

Gulping the icey slush, I began the short trudge back to the cave. Hetcher needed company, anyway, I thought glumly. No food animals would be out so late.

A soft_ thud_ wrenched me from my silence, testing my reflexes as I nocked an arrow and deftly drew back the bow. Kali, Carden, or squirrel, I was not going to be unprepared.

Of course, it was option D. A silvery package, only a few feet from where I had been standing. I heaved a sigh, picking it up, but didn't relax fully.

Swinging my bow over my shoulder, and tucking the package under my arm, I sprinted the remaining few yards to the cave. Already, I was numb with cold. The ice I had stuffed in my pack wouldn't last too long, either.

The cave was shadowy, and, as always, I got the jitters climbing in. Stooped over, I walked to the general area where Hetcher's sleeping bag lay, as quietly as possible. My goal was to sneak in, and, if he was somehow conscious, not disturb him.

With as much stealth as I could muster, I leaned up against him, and the sleeping bag that fairly radiated warmth. I felt like a cal, in front of a warm fire. Purr, and all that.

Opening my mouth in concentration, and carefully avoiding crinkling the silver paper, I began to tear the parcel open, inch by inch. No noise, no sound, no-

"Boo."

The voice was quiet, raspy, and it sounded like it had been run over by a bull moose. That didn't stop me from screaming, and throwing the package at Hetcher, who laughed croakily.

"Oh my god, Hetcher," I moaned, putting my hand over my heart as he barked a few more laughs. "I am going to kill you. Or I would, if the Capitol weren't trying to do that for me."

He finally stopped, pulling a face.

"They're doing a hell of a job of it."

I scrunched up my own visage in emulation.

"I'm sorry, Hetcher, How do you feel?"

"Like I fell into the forge. Or at least my legs did. You have anything to eat?"

Unfortunately, I remembered that he was hurt before I could justifiably smack him.

"Maybe I would, if you didn't spend a good seventy percent of your day trying to scare the heck out of me!" I retorted, ripping off the rest of the paper to find a tin container, with a loaf of bread the size of my fist, and a chunk of orangey cheese about as big as a skipping stone.

Yum.

"So… What've we got? Pain relievers?" he asked, sounding genuinely hopeful.

"Well, I think we're gonna eat tonight, Hetcher," I said tilting the platter so that he could see.

The games could wait. When bread and cheese is gourmet, you really have to enjoy the little things.

* * *

**Actassi POV**

Think of your favorite thing right now. Let's say… Being full. A hug from your dad. Sleeping in.

Now imagine that your food, or your father, or your bed, was covered in blood, gnawing on who-knows-what, and hanging suspended in the air above you. With no apparent means of support.

Take my life. _Please_.

So, there I stood, looking into the feral eyes of what I had taken for my mother. Wow, awkward, right? Yeah. Life-threatening, too.

"Mom… Are you alright?" I asked weakly, edging backwards through the slightly sludgy terrain. "Umm…"

That was really all I got out, before I turned tail and flat-out ran. Adrenaline burst into my system, and despite my already aching muscles, I picked up speed. I could hear wings flapping behind me, though. Where did she get wings?

A mutt. That had to be it. A cruel, experimental mutt. Why was I running? I had been spooked. Didn't I kill Kali? Wasn't I a career? _Why was I running?_

Frantically, I jammed my fist into my bag, locating my knife as I accidentally grazed my finger. Wincing, I flipped it around and grabbed the handle, yanking the knife out and shaking a few stray droplets of blood from my fingertips.

I was running, because I had no adequate weapons. I all but shrugged. Too late to run again. I had to kill my mother.

The sound of beating wings grew louder, and I turned to face it. Yes, the thing did have wings, but they were awkward, oversized things. No doubt a Capitol prototype. Every time they beat, the flesh surrounding them rippled, like an illusion.

She was, however, completely and unequivocally, _there_.

I held my knife tighter, and more blood oozed out of the cut on my index finger. I shuddered a bit. It had been deeper than I'd thought. Probably a bad sign, seeing as I was going to be majorly distracted from any efforts I might have made to heal it.

A peculiar thing about the in-flesh apparition; it seemed to move laboriously, however fast. Each motion required a ripple across it's surface.

Taking the most stabilizing breath I could, I raised my knife, looked away from my mother's face, and charged. Or stumbled as quickly as I could. Same difference, really. A dash to the death is a dash to the death.

She didn't dodge, or her… _It_'s response time wasn't fast enough. For the first time, I actually touched it, and shied immediately away. The surface, or what lay beneath, seemed to crawl with energy and motion.

Biting my lip, I whipped the knife right, slashing clean across the already-bloody cloth. The wound stayed clean, and she rippled, the surface knitting back together. Before I could react, I was backhanded into the muck.

My ears ringing, I forced myself up, each step more difficult. Experimental must be synonymous with undefeatable. In a rush, I remembered something Finnick had told me, purposefully on camera. Back when he was trying to build on my tough guy image.

"Actassi, you have to be a winner. A winner will do anything to get out of there. Even kill your own mother."

Even though I had practiced my response with the escort, I had grimaced horribly before answering "Well, that's what I am. I'm going to win, Finnick. Just watch me," in the least convincing voice I could have possibly mustered.

Irony. Don't you just hate it?

Standing up, my head cleared for a millisecond. Just long enough for me to really see her- _it_'s steps, just long enough for the last piece to click in.

I gripped my knife tighter, summoned up the last bit of energy in my body, and ran forward, full-tilt. I careened into it, braced myself, looked away from the face, and thought of Maren. Then, I jammed the knife hilt-deep into it's neck. I didn't let go.

It rippled around the arms, but I dropped to the ground, avoiding the forecast blow, and sprang up. My muscles protested vehemently, but I latched on to her frail-but-steely form, yanked the knife out, and slashed, again and again

Somewhere in the middle of all the blood that should have been there, I started to cry. For the most part, I could avoid the mutt's retaliations, but I was hit painfully. My stomach, my neck; all were bruised.

Her struggles stopped, and I felt myself fall. Any last vestige of strength I had was used to roll away from the corpse, if it could be called that. Nothing about the mutt, save the looks, was human.

I was hungry, tired, thirsty, and bitter. I was alive, though. You can't pass out if you're dead.

**-x**

**We're coming (almost) to a close! Three or four more chapters of the games, and then an epilogue.**

**And, yes, I have picked the winner. Any guesses?**

**Go and nominate some stories! We NEED your input, on the forum.**


	47. Rising

**Much love to all of you, and thanks for sticking with me! -puts up flypaper-**

**-x**

**Hetcher POV**

Everything hurt. It still did, and if what I could see was any indication, it wouldn't stop any time soon. Too bad, because I couldn't just lie down while Diane worked at keeping me fed.

I did, though. Stubborn girl, that one. My arms were working alright, well enough to keep the latest chunk of ice she retrieved a few inches from my mouth, melting quickly in the scorching heat. I'd always hated dependency, on my dad, on Gerry when we used the forges, on Hana to do anything involving other people.

What made it worse was that I had to be dependant to survive, and my instinct kept winning out over my dislike of relying on somebody else. Diane was not going to let me up until I was healed, and I was not going to stop her.

Hopelessly, I flopped back onto the ground, nearly dropping my ice as the motion ignited twin rivers of fire up my legs. Maybe, back when I wasn't used to it, I would have screamed. Instead, I bit my fist, wishing I could see Gerry, and maybe Hana. Hating the fact that I couldn't bring myself to appreciate how much my ally was doing for me.

Why on earth did I want to be the hero? Why couldn't I let someone else pull my weight, seeing as I was injured for their sake?

"_Because you're a bad person_," whispered my—conscience? Maybe. Maybe it was the arena getting to me. "_You don't deserve anyone. Not even dad. Even that hopeless, disgustingly unattached man is too good for you. Just die. Make it easier for all of them._"

I groaned. If I could bring myself to cause any more pain than I was experiencing, I would have slapped myself.

"Shut up," I muttered, switching the decreasing chunk of ice to my other hand.

"_No_."

"Even the freaking voice in my head has an attitude!"

It was a testament to my subconscious' willpower that there was no reply. I was alone, again. I swallowed the accumulated water, and hurled the chunk of ice at the far wall of the cave. Just to get the camera back, I guess. Just to know that there was someone out there even more powerless than me, who required my pain for entertainment.

I didn't even crack a smile, just bit my lip. Footsteps outside brought me background, hearing someone, no matter who. If it was Diane, with food, then fine. If it was Kali, preparing to drive a knife through my skull, so much the better.

They couldn't hurt me any more. None of them. I was a burden only to myself. Diane shouldn't be helping me, and if I was gone… Maybe she would live. I really didn't know. Really. I didn't care, either.

"Hey, Hetcher? You hungry? I got some plants to go with the cheese we have left."

Why was I so relieved when it was her?

* * *

**Carden POV**

Something was definitely wrong. I walked for nearly a day and a half, drinking sponsor-water, and drinking sponsor-food. Nothing had happened.

Nothing at all! Either everyone else in the arena was winning some kind of popularity contest with the viewers, or I was going to be in big trouble within a few days, when the Gamemakers realized I was still alive.

I shrugged. Maybe both, or maybe the danger would come a lot sooner. I was ready for it, and my little cross-bow would give it a run for it's money. I always made stuff for Arvid when we were little by whittling down sticks and scraps of wood into toys. How different could bolts be? I had a knife, and I had wood.

Pretty soon, my little drawstring pouch was full of nice, shapely bolts. They might not have had metal tips like the real ones, but I made them really well!

One time, while I was walking, I heard a noise coming from the bushes in one of the little islands. I was really scared, at first, but then I pulled out the cross-bow and nearly got a rabbit. It was kinda fast, though. And I lost one of the metal tip bolts.

I got over it, though. And I was pretty confident, despite all the weirdness, that I could take the scary career. The cross-bow made me feel brave, like I could climb up a mountain, or cut down a whole tree.

Probably, it was kinda dangerous to be so confident. But I really was! No matter how still the air was, or how hot it was, or how freezing the night got, I could finally defend myself.

I guess it's what the rebels felt like, when they got the courage to try to overthrow the Capitol.

Stopping, I reminded myself what happened to them. With a sigh, I sat down. Everything still hurt from the tree, and the crabs, and the walking. I needed to get to the career island, though. They would have some good weapons, and maybe some more bolts for my cross-bow.

It would be really nice to have some food that wasn't all dry beef and crackers, too. But I wasn't going to get really hopeful for food, just more weapons. Maybe, if I could just get home…

I stood up, though my legs were not happy about it. They wanted to lie down some more, and maybe fall asleep. I knew I had to move, because I was really close to the island. The scary career was probably there, or nearby. She could get me while I was asleep.

The dying duckweed and freshly sprouting crabgrass beneath my feet were the only plants I could identify, seeing as the island was still too far from sight to recognize anything other than a blob in the distance. I could, however, make out the occasional flash of gold as the setting sun glimmered off the Cornucopia.

Plants continued to crunch beneath my feet, the weathered stalks not offering much resistance, and my legs got even tired-er. I really wasn't built for walking, but I kept making myself promises to get home and do more good exercise. What's the point of being strong-ish if you can't walk five miles?

I shook my head, and sighed. My eyes were definitely playing tricks on me in the waning light. The Cornucopia didn't seem any closer, and I'd been walking for nearly half an hour. I tried to pick up the pace, but all my muscles just wanted to sleep.

How long had I been awake, anyway? The sky got black awfully fast, and I realized that I wasn't walking. Was it two days since I had last slept?

The stars were really pretty and shiny. I hadn't seen many stars in the arena. Maybe I could lie down, just a little. I let my legs go limp and rolled onto my back, watching them twinkle. Everything was getting cold again, but I didn't even have time to undo my sleeping bag before I fell asleep.

* * *

**Actassi POV**

Very little was going on, and I was glad of it. But, honestly, who's going to bother about the triumphant(ish), blood-soaked, bedraggled District Four who can't even make it back to the _twenty foot high golden object_?

I was so tired. Somewhere beyond tired. Like, beyond 'exhausted' too. Every second, I was relieved when I could take another step, my pants creaking as the drying blood was disturbed. I wanted to set my brain on fire, to purge out the last twenty-four hours forever.

Even if I won, though, even if I made it home to my mom and dad and those moronic district boys and girls who could _never_ hope to understand what I had been through, I would always be a killer. The stupid boy who was tricked into killing his own mother. A few other people, too.

But that's 'if' I make it home. A little tiny word, changing everything. If.

What if Diane, bow in hand, was watching me from the shadows? I instinctively turned my head. Nothing. Just twilight, toying with my imagination. What if Hetcher was walking behind me, synchronizing his steps with my own, preparing to gut me with his sword? Again, I slowly turned around. Only my own trail of footprints, and those I was doggedly following. What if Carden-

I was being absurd. No one was anywhere near me, at least, not close enough to do me harm. The Gamemakers had exhausted at least one torment on me, and were probably focusing on those left.

Still, I gulped. I had changed so much. Wishing pain on others, innocents, to spare myself. And I certainly was guiltier than they.

Something in me was wishing it's way out, wishing that I was dead. It would be the easiest form of escape from the arena. I would never have to face Finnick, shaking his head when I tried to take 'the hard way out', nor Tasino rolling his eyes at my latest failure.

A guy, who I read about, one time, called death some sort of sleep. But you can't wake up, and you can't take it back, and you can't apologize to all the people you'll hurt by not existing.

I realized that I was gripping my knife tighter, my hand shaking. I was preparing to go to sleep, and maybe not wake up.

Biting my lip, I blinked a few times, and stuffed the knife back into my pack. Why save someone the trouble? We're all murderers. I might as well not add myself to my body count.

Instead, spotting two smallish blobs ahead, I forged on. Neither one held the Cornucopia, but the closer of the two smelled simply divine. I could make it there, at least, before I passed out.

Maybe the bushes would lend me some cover in the night, and a bit of food, despite the lack of trees. The island beyond looked woody enough, and I could see a large, grey shape, almost cave-like in appearance. That would be my next stop.

I made my way, trudging, to the heavenly island. It was pitch black, of course, so I didn't dare to pick any berries. When I was little, a moray eel bite had taught me not to reach for things I couldn't see. Night didn't stop me from smelling them, though. I pushed my pack under my head, and said a quiet goodnight to myself. I remembered tot be at least a bit grateful for surviving another day.

The next morning, I could be at least a little refreshed, enough to make it the other island, which was still very far away. I would wait for the dawn, and maybe I actually could do it.

Already, deep in the rapidly decreasing temperature, in my bloody clothing, still aching from my wounds, I could feel the wonderful smell of the berries in the still night air. I could feel the sun rising.

**-x**

**Wow, you look familiar! That's right, I'm updating, in less then a month. **

**The story may be going slowly, but that's because I'm building up courage for what I've got to do next. X.x**


	48. Poison

**Gone, but not forgotten! I'm back, and I'm updating!**

**-x**

**Diane POV**

Today, when I went to collect the last bit of ice from the spring, I caught myself skipping. Me, skipping! On my way to gather the last of a waning water supply, I was happy enough to, as some would put it, frolic. Me!

It was yet another sign that the Gamemakers were doing their job improperly. All I could really do was to slow my gate to a steady walk, and hope that there were no staff adjustments made until the next Hunger Games, at least.

Another thing to be grateful for hit me at the spring. Beneath the relatively clean chunks of ice, which I brushed aside, a few teaspoons of cold, clear, water began to well up. It wasn't much, but I dug at the spot with Hetcher's discarded sword until the tiny chink was a hole nearly the size of my hand.

With a little squeezing, I could easily fill my palm with water. I held it to my lips, quietly savoring the victory of my first honest-to-goodness liquid water in nearly a week. Maybe more. It was getting hard to tell, in between the increasingly frigid nights and torrid days.

The main cause of my inexplicable happiness was not quite so inexplicable. Though we had long since run out of the cheese sent by the lovely sponsors, who I were beginning to appreciate more and more, Hetcher and I were eating wholesome, if tiny meals at regular intervals. Oh, yeah, and _Hetcher was getting better_!

I had long since buried any thoughts of quietly doing away with him, as it no longer provided a solution to the immediate problem; getting rid of Kali. I could leave him alone, if briefly, to look for her. He would be well enough to accompany me, soon. Also, guilt had gnawed me half to the bone, watching him sleep, and it was an altogether pleasant feeling to delay it.

The simple fact was, I needed him, and he needed me. Any thoughts of matters in the future (hopefully, _far _in the future) were the last thing that was good for that future's existence. I could probably deal with that circumstance as it came. Maybe, hopefully, I wouldn't have to.

I carried the ice back, seeing as I had no vessel to transport the water. It would have to wait, along with a lot of things. But the number was diminishing, and as long as I could keep my chin up, it seemed for the first time, in what felt like another lifetime, that I might make it home.

* * *

**Actassi POV**

Rest assured, I've never been an early riser. Nothing seemed wrong, at the time, when I was awoken by the sun's glare, directly overhead. After the previous week, I deserved all that sleep, and more.

Pain, however, was not something I was expecting. Maybe a dull ache in my overexerted muscles, a tightening in my unusually concave stomach. Not the feeling of a thousand rusty fish-hooks dragged across every inch of exposed skin. My eyelids weren't spared, either, and I lay back, baking in the sun, in too much pain to even open my eyes.

What had happened? Why was waking up on this island so different than the mornings everywhere else?

The smell was still there, though when I breathed it in, the heady aroma sent tracts of fire down my throat. Before my reflexes could stop me, my eyes snapped open, and I tugged myself bolt upright. Maybe the island was safe, but squinting through the heat and the agony, I could see what looked almost like a mist rising off the berry-laden boughs around me, mingling in the waves of heat.

Poison. I was killing myself by breathing.

Though every movement hurt, I managed to keep myself upright, bringing the bloodstained fabric of my shirt up, inside towards me, to cover my mouth and nose. I had no clue how much good it would do me, but psychologically, I might be able to slow my rapidly increasing heartbeat, and reduce the panic coursing through my system.

My breathing began to slow. Carefully, cautiously, I began to stand, though I had to move vertebra by vertebra to avoid most inevitable stabs of pain. I was becoming numb around my fingertips, which was, no doubt, a bad sign. At least it eased some of the burning in my digits, and strengthened my resolve. I would not die surrounded by my killers.

When I had barged through the previous night, I had left a scattered trail indication my presence; crushed stems, trampled bushes, smashed berries. It was my ticket out, perhaps. I blundered along it, staggering alternately on and off the rough path.

Several times I tripped, igniting the pain again, but I managed to keep it from my mind, like the hunger, the, the thirst, and my general wretchedness. Better to ignore it, and spend what could well be my last few minutes trying to save myself.

For sure, I was lacerated beyond comprehension, soiled beyond recognition. My hair was tangled, but I barely could feel anything. I had to get out. Behind me, I left my weapon, my pack, everything not attached to my body. If I had managed to get anything out of that small clearing, I had lost it shortly afterwards.

The ground dropped off sharply, and I was sent tumbling down a steep incline. I could barely feel it, though I was sure that the jolting was doing nothing good for me. It was over surprisingly fast, and I lay, gasping for air, in a pile of dead duckweed.

It could have been hours that I lay there, but the wisps of air I could take in were gradually larger and more even. My heart rate seemed steady enough, but the feeling did not return to my appendages.

Poison. That was what had done it. All I had been through, and I had succumbed to one of the most obvious Gamemaker tricks in existence. Poisoning the pretty stuff, and watching as the suckers took the bait.

I groaned, my first conscious noise in however long I had lain there. What did I ever do to the Gamemakers?

* * *

**Carden POV**

Today, I got a lot of stuff done. And, guess what? I'm still alive! Pretty cool, huh? I'm actually really pepped up, considering that I've been in the arena for longer than two weeks. My cross-bow is working better than ever, and I cut off a few chips, so it's easier to carry.

One thing I did was that I caught my first food in a long time. I had been getting really hungry, but I was still able to shoot a little metal-tip bolt into a squirrel. It was moving kinda funny, like it was sick, so I didn't eat it, just in case. I was holding out for the Cornucopia, and maybe some more stuff from my sponsors.

Also, I got so close to the Cornucopia that it's only how tired I am that is stopping me from climbing up on top of the island and getting some stuff. As it is, I'm really worn out and dirty and stuff, and I'm not really sure how to go about climbing all the way up.

Doing nothing is really my only option, but I'm really fine with that. I mean, I've got my bow, some water, and a few more crackers left. As much as I want to go up there, it can wait until after dark. Maybe when I feel a bit better.

So that's why I was lying there, staring up at a giant pile of dirt. Have you ever noticed how it's a lot of fun not to do anything when you're tired? The sun was still up, so it was really hot, and I felt kinda lazy. Like I just wanted to sleep. I knew I couldn't, though, so I just lay back and watched the sky, with my hand on my loaded cross-bow.

I might be a very small, insignificant-looking shape next to the huge island, but anyone who tried to kill me would probably be shocked by how well I can shoot.

At that thought, I felt pretty sad. Because I _do_ feel small, compared to pretty much everything around me. And I miss Arvid, and my friends, and even mom and dad, I guess. I miss Hypatia, and Esther, and all the people who are dead, except for the scary ones.

But I'll have all my life to think about them, if I get out of here. I can't waste the time I have left on what-ifs. And if I don't make it, then maybe there will be a time that I can see them, and even the people who aren't dead. If we're all dead, won't we be logically and spiritually on the same plane?

It didn't make sense without Hypatia to explain it…

Kicking at a decaying clump of plants, I dragged myself up. It's easier to keep a clear head when I'm walking, and I don't think that climbing will be any different. I slung my little bag over my shoulder, hefted my cross-bow in my left hand, and slowly began to walk up the slope before me.

It was a precarious situation to begin with, but my sneakers had little grippy bits that really helped me get my footing on the steep climb. It worked, though, in combination with my right hand during the really hard parts.

After so much time spent walking to the Cornucopia, I was prepared for something spectacular to be there when I achieved the peak. I wasn't disappointed, but I wasn't really amazed, either. There were several damp packs of matches, a tent, about five bedrolls, and an assortment of blankets.

No food.

After the long climb, I plopped down in one of the bedrolls before I could do much more exploring. Coping with everything was just hard. It looked like no one had been there in a while, but I lay back with my cross-bow at hand, just in case. I felt prepared for pretty much anything, especially sleeping.

I was starting to doze off in the late afternoon heat, however, when I heard something I was definitely not ready for.

First, a rumble, like the earth was splitting open. Not under me, but close.

Then, a sound I hadn't heard in a long time. A noise that still made me shiver, just a little bit, with memories.

A cannon blast.

**-x**

**Forgive me for the cliffy! I love you guys to bits, but I'll be gone for the next few weeks. Updates will be... Pretty much as they have been.**

**Don't worry, I'm not giving up. This _will _end before summer does. I swear it on my laptop!**


	49. Unintentional

**Warning: Slightly depressing.**

**-x**

**Diane POV**

_I missed a rabbit on the way back. It was too far away, but I shot at it anyway. When you're that high up, though, it takes a lot more than a missed kill to get you down. For the first time, though, I was lucky enough to bag one of the fluffy brown hens that I often noticed at the base of trees, and camouflaged in the bushes._

_The bird would be a welcome addition to our lunch. In school, we learned about a thing called 'rabbit poisoning' where, after weeks of subsisting off only rabbits, hunters died of fat and vitamin deficiencies brought on by the lean meat._

_Hetcher would probably ask why I had strayed from the usual game. I was relieved to have an answer for him. Maybe I could make him laugh._

_What snapped me out of my thoughts was an ominous rumble, and the stirring of my senses. Not only was the earth, not far from me, strangely moving, but someone was nearby. Someone I didn't know._

_I began to hurry back, moving quickly through the brush, closer and closer to the cave. It was not yet in view, but I could tell that the groaning of rock was coming from it's direction._

_Changing pace entirely, I began to run, the sound growing louder and more violent with each moment, my feeling of unease multiplying. I could have sworn I heard a strangled cry, one I could nearly identify._

_I willed the island to be smaller. I needed to know that I was okay, that we were okay, that the noises meant nothing._

_Just as suddenly, the churning, rumbling, pitching cacophony stopped. I hadn't realized just how loud it was. In the silence, though, the sound of something smaller than me, someone distinctly human, was obvious._

_Silence didn't last long enough. A cannon blast sounded, directly above me. Without knowing why, I began to run in earnest. The strange, blanketing quiet that had returned felt so terribly wrong, so empty. I pushed through the last stand of trees separating myself from the cave, from the safety I felt so sure awaited me._

No. No, no,_ no_.

I wanted to scream. I had to scream. But my voice was gone. So was the cave.

Gone. Collapsed, a more eloquent person than myself might say.

I wouldn't let it be gone. It couldn't happen. I pitched forward, tossing back my bow, trying to lift just one rock. I had to undo it. I had to undo the terrible thing before me. It couldn't be over. Nothing could be over. No.

One rock. The next was heavier. So much heavier. I was probably crying. I couldn't move it. I wasn't strong enough. _No_.

He wasn't gone. I wasn't alone. No Gamemaker would do it, they wouldn't dare. We were so perfect, even when we weren't.

Who was it, then? Who was responsible? Who but me?

My cheeks felt wet, and sticky. I couldn't stop. Not when it was my fault that it had started. Not when there was no one else to blame. No one left to blame.

Hetcher was dead. I couldn't bring him back, no matter how hard I blinked, how hard I scrabbled at the terrible, terrible monument that was all he had left. No matter how hard I wished that I had done anything different.

No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn't fully blame myself. Someone had to be at fault. Someone I could find, someone I could kill. I had to do something, no matter how stupid, or rash, or insane. I needed to find that mysterious presence, the one that hadn't saved him, the one that didn't even try.

I wiped my sodden face with the sleeve of my shirt, knowing exactly what I had to do. I had to find Kali. I had to kill her.

Hetcher deserved that much.

* * *

**Carden POV**

Everything got really quiet, after the creepy rumbling and the cannon. Even though it was only late afternoon, the wind stopped rustling through the stand of trees, and it got cold.

The sleeping bag helped way more than I had been used to, and even though it was paper-thin, I snuggled into it as best as I could. I wanted to know who had died, but I didn't, at the same time. What if it was Diane? What if it was Hetcher?

…What if it wasn't Kali?

I wanted to got to sleep so badly, but what if I missed the anthem? I couldn't afford to do that again.

It's really hard to go to sleep with so much light from the sun, and so many 'what ifs' in your mind.

Stretching in my sleeping bag for the hundredth time, I had a strange thought. I was in the final three, something I had never really expected.

I hadn't had to kill anyone, but I'd watched twenty-one people, all kids, die. I'd seen Paris fall to an arrow. Royce had been killed, right in front of me.

Kali was still alive. Probably. Soren wasn't, though, but I didn't quite know why.

Lecia could have died in the bloodbath, right? Her district partner did, too. Vance, I think it was.

Maren and Actassi had been slaughtered by Kali, no doubt violently.

Dell had been run through by Paris, and Bond had just… died. I didn't know how, and I didn't want to.

Esther had been killed by Franz, for some sick idea of revenge. Franz had definitely died, but I didn't know the culprit.

Glade was dead. Kali killed her. I was alive, though, somehow.

Twyla had her face smashed in. It still made me shiver to think how she had died, though I couldn't cry for someone who had been so mean to Sherman. Sherman had died, somehow. I didn't really know about him, either.

Diane was probably okay, but I couldn't know for sure. Wilder had just stood on his platform, and Bond had snapped his neck.

Hypatia was dead. And I could never, ever forget that she was. I would never let her go. Antiphon, though, had been stabbed really hard by Royce. He was definitely dead, which was sad. He tried to ally with us, but Hypatia and Franz had thought he was lying about wanting to keep us safe.

Anona was dead. Maren killed her. Spencer was dead, too, but after we left the island. He had run like a coward.

Jenae had died when she ran to the Cornucopia. She wasn't very fast, and Kali got her. Hetcher might be okay. I hoped he was.

All the names took me a long time to remember. The sky was getting dark, and the air was getting even colder. My little sleeping bag kept me warm enough, though.

A little silver parcel drifted down from the sky, landing near me. My stomach growled. I hadn't realized how hunger I was.

Tentatively, I reached out and scooped it up. It was much warmer than the surrounding air, but not too hot, either. Inside was a single fruit, kind of a warm orangey color. It was fuzzy to the touch, and I couldn't stop stroking it.

I wished that I had someone who could explain what it was, or what I should do with it. Maybe I could find Diane and Hetcher, and they could help me. Or maybe they wouldn't.

Franz had seemed nice-ish before the arena. How could I be sure that my two other friends hadn't changed, too?

Just as I closed my eyes, the anthem started. I groaned, opening my eyes to the startling light and brushing away a few mosquitoes.

A wholly unexpected picture popped up. Hetcher, staring with something between a grin and a vacant expression. I felt my heart drop into my stomach. How was Diane taking it? There was no way it was her who did it. I can tell when someone likes someone else as much as she liked Hetcher. _Kali_…

The night felt even colder, and the music ended. All the light flickered off, and I felt even smaller. Even more scared. If someone as big and strong as Hetcher couldn't beat Kali, who was I kidding? I wouldn't have a chance!

I was too tired not to close my eyes. On that eighteenth night, I drifted away into sleep, wishing I was anywhere else in the world.

Anywhere but here.

* * *

**Actassi POV**

Even through the shuddering tarantella that the earth had danced in the afternoon, even through the cannon blast that signaled Hetcher's death and my inclusion in the final three, I had kept moving. Slowly, painfully, growing dirtier and dirtier as I dragged myself through the grimy remnants of the pond scum.

The night, though, and my proximity to the island itself finally allowed me to slow, pause, stop. I could sleep, as best one can when covered in… stuff. I itched all over, and wanted very few things more than a hot shower. In order, those things were: a good meal, a cold drink of water, and a long sleep.

It was only possible for me to perhaps achieve the last one, but my thoughts, the sounds of the night, and the itching, scabbing pain still clinging to my skin kept me awake. Sleep was far away. The footsteps, (_were_ they my imagination?) the daunting hill sloping up only a few feet from where I lay, and the uncertainties of the day blanketed me in it's place.

Mercifully, I felt myself curl into a slightly more comfortable place. My breathing once again steadied, and my eyes drooped closed, a testament to how truly tired I was. Noises around me dulled, even the crickets, once so loud, were muffled.

Before my eyes could close, though, a hiss behind me jarred my consciousness back into reality.

"_You_!"

I felt her gaze on my forehead before I saw it, but the pale crescent of a moon allowed for very little visibility. What I could see were her eyes, refracting the waning light in a steady glare.

Diane. But why was she so upset? In her expression, I saw more Kali than Carden. She was not quite human. The arena had changed her, like us all. I couldn't guess at how little I looked like the terrified boy who left District Four.

"You could say that," I rasped, my first speech in nearly a week. "Who is me?"

She seemed to growl under her breath, and I shrunk back even more. The situation was dangerous. I had more than likely just made it worse, and I didn't have the voice to remedy my mistake.

"Murderer."

It was what I had expected, all along. She knew about what I had done. She knew that I had killed Kali, that I had stood back and let Maren die. Karma.

"No," I tried to say, but it sounded like I had laughed. "No!"

"Shut up. You killed him! It wasn't me, it was you!"

But I hadn't killed any hims! I had never meant to hurt anybody! The words tumbled out before I could stop them.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Please, just let me get up. Let me explain. I didn't want to kill them! I didn't try to kill them!"

She tilted her head, trying to understand what I had said.

"The arena's been hard on you," she said, wrinkling her brow. "It's been hard on all of us."

Her expression changed.

"But that's no reason…"

I had scrambled to my knees, though all of my joints protested. Who was she talking to?

I coughed, betraying myself as she looked down, her eyes not level with mine. I winced at the intensity in her stare.

"Run, if you're going to. Or fight. Don't just stand there. Don't just give up! Do something! Anything!"

She was nearly screaming, and I shrunk back. I wasn't running because I had nowhere to run. I wasn't fighting because I didn't have any strength left, even to stand.

"Do something!" she shrieked. "I'm giving you a chance. You didn't give him a chance. Please don't make me kill you, please…"

I toppled over, my muscles giving out. She was crazy, raving. I wasn't much better, lying in a crumpled heap at her feet.

"_Do something_!" she repeated. "Do it! Kill me like you killed him!"

The tears on her face surprised me. She shouldn't be crying. She had everything she needed to win. She could go home, just with one more person. I braced myself, knowing what she would do. What I would do, were our placed reversed.

Diane was hysterical.

"I don't care! I don't care anymore! Just _GO AWAY_!"

We were both at the end. All I could hope for was that she would make it quick. I hadn't seen a weapon in her hands, but I knew there was one there. A short, broad sword, as I saw in a glimmer of moonlight. The clouds parted, momentarily, bringing back a little visibility. I wished for them to stay as they were, so that I could see my end.

"I said to go away!" she cried, raising the sword so that it glinted in the moonlight.

"I can't!" I rasped, trying to roll to the side.

With death so inevitable, I felt a strange compulsion to live. I didn't want to die. There was so much I could do. So many people I had never met. And I knew what was waiting for me. I knew where murderers went.

"Don't…" I muttered feebly, too weak to be heard anymore.

It was too cold to think, for either of us. In those moments, her sword hung in the air above me, the blade of the guillotine about to fall. I saw my own terror in her eyes, but it turned, too fast, to determination.

She shook her head, as if to clear any discordant thoughts from her mind.

"Then I guess it's settled."

Much faster than I had thought it would be, the arc of steel flashed down towards me.

I would like to say that I had a noble last moment, that I thought of my parents and how sorry I was for leaving them. Maybe that I realized just what these games had done to us. I would like to say that I forgave Diane.

People don't work that way, though. We are not creatures of nobility, or at least, I'm not.

Instead, my thoughts centered on a soft, fast repetition.

_Please don't, please don't, please don't_...

The cold air grew more intense, and a chill racked my body, starting at my heart, racing through my bloodstream. It hurt, the freezing, but it numbed me.

I must have slipped off at some point, up, up, higher than I could have imagined. The gelidity faded into a pleasant warmth.

I didn't even hear my own cannon.

* * *

**Diane POV**

She just lay there. Didn't move. The cannon definitely blasted, but I was scared to touch her. Terrified to believe that it was over.

After what felt like an eternity, I let myself lean over her, testing to see if the breath had really stopped. It had.

Was this what revenge felt like? The desperate need to run, to hide from what you've done? The need to make them alive again, just so that your hands will feel clean?

I brushed some silt off Kali's face with unintentional kindness. She would never have afforded me the same. My hand stopped.

Kali hadn't had bangs.

The eyes were wrong, and the face was softer, more human. She wasn't alive, after all.

This boy, this human being who I had killed, wasn't either.

Oh God.

What have I done?

**-x**

**Oh my goodness. I tried so hard to make myself cry, and it didn't work!**

**Thanks are afforded to the following: Pen, Mel, Ninjane, Katie, Merc, Gill, Maren, and Genius Playlist.**

**I'm sorry for those of you who liked Actassi. The Gamemakers just had it in for him.**


	50. Penultimate

**A **_**very**_** short last chapter before the end, just to get you in the mindset of the final two. Enjoy!**

**-x**

**Carden POV  
**

Final two. The words felt so ethereal on my tongue, I had to clamp my jaws shut just to keep them from escaping.

Sleep had not come easily after the first cannon blast, but it had been wrenched away from me with the second. Who could even think of sleeping with only one other person left in the arena?

I couldn't stop thinking. What would I do if it was Kali? Even worse, what _could_ I do if it was Diane? I had come too far to just die. I hadn't come far enough to kill someone, though. With the fact growing closer and closer, I felt myself feeling less and less prepared.

Morning was scary. Everything was quiet and still, even the birds in the stand of trees on the other side of the island. The wind was holding his breath, watching me for the cue.

Stretching, I pulled myself out of the cozy sleeping bag. It was like a game that some of the elders played back in District Seven, called chest. It doesn't look anything like a chest, but they call it that. The game usually starts with thirty-two pieces, all different shapes and sizes and movements, though it had been twenty-four in this game. Now we were down to two, both the most important ones in the game.

It wasn't quite like chest, though. When there are just two kings left, it's called a stalemate, 'cause no one can win anymore. The kings just won't hurt each other.

The Capitol makes one of us win, though. So there's no easy way for the game to be over. We have to keep playing chest, until one of us is dead.

It's my move, now.

* * *

**Diane POV**

What am I? I'm not Diane anymore, obviously. She was human, and she had feelings and wants and needs. She smiled sometimes, and cried, and laughed, and loved her little brother even when he was naughty.

The person I was trapped in wasn't her. I was certain of that.

Diane never would have killed someone who hadn't tried to hurt her. She wouldn't have wanted to, wouldn't have needed to. That girl would never made it past twenty-two deaths, just for a fifty-fifty chance of living. She would have died nobly, probably. She would never ever even think of winning, just keeping her humanity.

I had to bring her back. That much was clear. No matter what it took.

There was no man in Panem who could make me take another life. There was no way I would go back to the hopelessness of being who I really was, a killer.

In all likelihood, I was going to die. Not a martyr, not a murderer, not an innocent, but a girl. From District Nine. Who made a whole lot of bad choices.

**-x**

**This was the last point of view from one of them, because I'm setting the stage for the final battle. You won't be with the tributes, though. Bell Voyeur, announcing…**


	51. The End

**The End.**

**-x**

Bell hopped in a little circle, clapping her hands. Amazing! The games were lovely! Last night's finale had been no exception, though there was nothing particularly exciting. Carden's little face had just been so dreadful when he learned who was left. It gave her goose bumps all over!

More than a little of Bell's excitement was due to the fact that she had been relieved of her announcer's duties after her interviews had received record ratings. She was officially restored to chief interviewer on the TGL network. Wonderful! She had been hoping for a chance to watch the games on her own. Sometimes they were nail-bitingly tense, and she didn't want the cast of TGL to see her at a bad moment.

Her recently promoted junior assistant, a natural blonde who's peppiness exceeded Bell's own, (almost…) was reporting as she flipped the channel to TGL. To watch the games anywhere else would be akin to blasphemy.

"In a startling turn, the odds shifted, for the first time since the twenty-ninth games, into the favor of the younger competitor! Twelve-year-old Carden Chaney is leading in terms of bets, though our Seventeen, Diane Glenn, is running a very close second. Who are you supporting, Harold?" the announcer chirped, smiling broadly.

"I'm not sure, Jennsen. Let's check the polls!" Bell's former co-anchor replied, smiling in a manor much the same.

A brightly colored poll flashed up, showing that fifty-four percent of the Capitolians polled favored Carden to win the games. Bell shrugged. She just wanted a good fight, something quick. Her favorite part was the interview at the end, where the victor always looked so much better!

She yawned, lounging back on her couch. The clock on her mantle read five minutes to six. Bell had woken up early to watch the games the second they were on. TGL would be running a few more stories, but their subsidy, TGL live, would be showing the action 24/7.

Bell flipped the channel up, stopping a scene in which Diane, on a blanket beneath a tree, shifted restlessly in her sleep. The tributes rarely woke before seven, but the Gamemakers would surely be planning something. Ratings would be down on every network the feed went to, and that's not a good thing on the last day of the games.

Clicking yet another button, Bell switched her system to 'immersion', and was quickly absorbed in the sound of the arena as the sun rose. A bird called, and the scene switched to Carden's.

He stretched, his eyes blinking open. The bird had woken him, but he seemed unhappy. Still half asleep, he looked up at the roiling grey sky, sighed, and lay down again.

The sky rumbled faintly, and patches lit up for a few seconds at a time. The effect was ethereally beautiful, though both tributes slept through it. Slowly, the sounds increased in volume, until, with a peal of thunder, sheets of rain began to sweep in from the East and West of the arena.

Carden woke up again, sitting bolt upright in his sleeping bag. His eyes were wide with fear, no doubt from a nightmare. He gnawed on his lip, pulling out the last of his provisions, the ones he was saving, from the little bag he carried around.

Relief flooded into his expression as he emptied the tiny bottle of water in three gulps, and ravenously attacked his last strip of beef and stale cracker. He had been better than most at conserving rations, Bell noted, watching with interest as he rooted through the pile of weapons that the careers had attempted to destroy.

He twitched a little with every clap of thunder, whirling around to see if someone was following him. He needn't have worried. The image cut to Diane, still asleep. She had scrunched herself into a ball on her blanket, and was shivering in the cool air that the rain pushed in. In no condition to try to find the Twelve.

Her expression was pained, and she slept fitfully, occasionally rolling nearly of the spread-out blanket. Nightmares were not uncommon on the final night of the games, but her's seemed worse than most.

Once again, clouds were shown sweeping in overhead, a particularly loud rumble of thunder following a period of light that completely dissolved the image on the screen.

Both finalists were awake. A bear couldn't sleep through that.

Diane's eyes were wide, but she seemed in a daze, groping around with a dirty, pale hand to steady herself. Her hair was a total mess, Bell noticed, sniffing in disdain.

Wind whooshed around both bedraggled tributes, an uncharacteristically cold draft being pushed in. Carden pulled himself to his feet, listening to the rattle of the leaves in the small stand on his island. Diane crawled off her blanket, shaking it out and wrapping it around herself. The deep brown fleece certainly looked warm enough.

The rain reached Diane first, and she began to shiver. A tiny stats page popped up next to her on the screen, showing that the air temperature was 9.2 degrees Celsius, the gusts blowing in were 7.8, and Diane's body temperature was 35.1, well below average. Bell wondered what that meant, guessing at 'cold'.

Carden found another package of crossbow bolts, but the replacement bow had been cleaved in two, and well-trampled. He was disappointed with his haul, but nocked a bolt despite it, and walked carefully into the forest.

Soggy and miserable, Diane dragged herself to her feet, hugged herself into the blanket, and abandoned her bow and last few arrows on the island. She simply walked away, wetter and wetter. A confusing choice.

Slowly, almost tentatively, she stepped across the trembling ground towards the Cornucopia.

"Hello? Is it you?"

Carden gasped from within the vessel, nearly screaming with surprise.

"Diane! Quick, get in here! The mountains are falling!"

In a startling feat for one as exhausted as she, Diane straightened.

"What mountains? Where? Carden, are you okay? Oh no, of course you aren't! I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."

She scrunched up her features, slouching back down as she wearily trudged into the golden horn.

"It's been so long," she whispered, though it had only been about a week.

"Diane, there's no time! They're trying to kill us! The mountains are falling. We need to get out of here!"

"No. You mean the mountains around the edge, right?"

Carden nodded silently, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Yeah, those ones. We're going to die. We're going to die. We can't do anything about it. We're not going to kill each other. They'll kill us both. We're going to die."

"No! No, we are not! I am not going to let you die, you hear me? We are going to stay right here, and you are going to live. No one is going to die!"

The earth trembled again, as if in an attempt to prove her wrong. Carden, tucked into a ball, rocked on his heels. Diane positioned herself in front of him, facing the large opening. Wordlessly, she yanked off her dripping blanket, handing it back to him.

"Here," she muttered. "It's wool. You'll be warm enough."

Carden's hand shook, but he accepted it, adding to his pile of blankets.

"What's happening?" he whispered, extracting an arm to tap on her shoulder.

"I'm going to die. And you are going to go home, and forget these games ever happened."

His eyes, still wet, widened, and his mouth dipped open.

"But… Diane! Your brother, and your family!"

She scooted back, facing him. Her face, too, was damp.

"You have them too. And you haven't killed anyone. You're better than me."

Carden leaned forward, and, unexpectedly, hugged her.

"I'm so sorry. You don't have to, you know," he said, quietly.

"Yes I do."

She gently detached his arms, tucking him into the pile of blankets. Though the shaking Cornucopia had reached a fever pitch, she stood up, leaning on the side for support. The mountains in her view were gone, and the sun barely looked over the horizon. Through the rain, it had a strange, watery quality, barely existing.

The berry-bush island in the distance was crushed under a tide of seething grey. Diane nodded, bit her lip, and retreated into the Cornucopia.

"I don't know how long we'll have before the avalanche reaches us," she murmured, lost in thought.

Carden looked up at her with wide eyes, his expression pained.

"I don't want you to die."

"You can't change my mind, you know."

"I never wanted anyone to die."

She whirled around, suddenly angry.

"Well, we don't always get what we want!"

The rumbling of the ground, the Cornucopia, and the air in general cut off any further discussion. Carden looked hurt, curling tighter into himself.

"You _have_ changed," he whispered. "Everyone has."

Diane didn't turn, merely continued to gaze out of the Cornucopia's gaping mouth. She continued to chew her lip, staring at the grey mass as it thundered towards them. The cave island was engulfed as well.

"We need to get out of the Cornucopia. When the rocks get here, we'll be trapped unless we move now. Bring the blankets."

As silently as they could, both Diane and Carden gathered their supplies, meager though they were, and stepped out of the golden horn. The avalanche was, on further examination, converging from all directions.

"Are you... sure that was a good idea?" Carden asked meekly, clambering after her on the soggy, shaking ground with his blankets in tow.

"We'll know in a bit."

He looked apprehensive, but pointedly avoided looking at where the rocks were headed. A small picture flashed up, showing a cartoon map of the arena. A huge patch of grey converged from all sides of the Cornucopia island, in the middle. Most islands were long gone in the tide. In the corner, a digital clock face showed that the tributes had 1.284 minutes before the first rock would hit their island.

They carefully stepped through the trembling, watery muck, heading towards an upwards slope, a few feet from the Cornucopia. Save the crumbling mountains, it was the highest point in the arena. They were both slimy with dirt, rain, and rotting grass, and shivering violently.

"Wh-what do we-e-e d-do now-w?" Carden queried through heavily chattering teeth.

"Wait-t. Th-that's all w-we can do-o." Though Diane had her jaw clenched much tighter than her companion's she still could not keep the cold from her voice.

No one wanted to wait.

The first boulder hit the side of the island with a dull thud, and Carden jumped. The next, and the next, and the next followed in rapid succession, and the individual noises were soon lost in a cacophony of bangs and clatters.

There were no other islands to be seen, and even the mountains had lost their definitive edge on the horizon. The rocks kept coming, though their origin was unclear. The first layer was lost beneath the second, and that beneath the third, closer and closer to Diane and Carden.

"I'm s-sc-scared," Carden stuttered, hugging Diane in a death grip.

She, too, seemed to be faltering.

"S-so am I," she whispered to him, "B-but you d-don't have t-to be."

They were quiet for a few seconds, but it felt much longer, with no way to tell the time. Diane closed her eyes, as if she was trying to capture the moment, to savor it, even if it was as terrible for her as it seemed.

She pulled a heavy, bent blade from the package of salvage she had collected from outside the Cornucopia, and leveled it ahead of her. It was an odd choice, considering how little proficiency she had shown with swords in training.

A boulder roughly the size of Carden's head careened off the pile building around the island, bouncing wetly towards them. Carden gave a little gasp, but Diane jammed the sword down in an attempt to deflect it. The rock ricocheted off, but the force exerted knocked the sharp end of the blade into her shin. A thin line of blood spread across her skin, and she cursed under her breath.

"I-I think we ju-ust hav-ve to d-dodge."

Carden nodded, but looked reluctant to leave their high perch.

Another boulder, from a different direction, crashed into the woods. It was bigger than the first one, and knocked over a small tree before rolling to a gentle stop a few feet from Diane's foot. With a grunt, she pushed it back down the slope. Almost immediately, two more flew from opposing directions.

Diane quickly moved a few steps to the right, dragging Carden with her.

"S-stay with m-me, here!" she yelled, trying to be heard over the roar or more and more incoming projectiles.

Though Carden's lips moved, his reply was lost as Diane pulled him sharply left, and a huge rock rolled through the space he had occupied seconds before. The Cornucopia let out a resonating beat as it was dented by an even larger boulder.

"Pay attention-n!" she snapped.

Dust rose in clouds, obscuring some cameras, and the tributes' fields of vision. Rocks began to pile up even higher, in layers around the low points of the island. The woods filled in the quickest, and the Cornucopia was soon full to the mouth with rubble. Neither tribute was unscathed, either. Carden had been caught by a smaller rock on his ankle, and was moving with a limp. Diane's nose was bleeding sluggishly from a glancing blow dealt by a fist-sized projectile.

Their area of motion had diminished hugely, the piles of rocks giving them only about five square feet in which to dodge. It was only a matter of time before something happened, and it did.

A huge, slightly oblong rock, rolling on it's side across the field of discarded rubble, moved threateningly towards them. It was at least seven feet long and four feet wide, and it rolled in a fashion somewhat lopsided. Nonetheless, it was fast. And what with that surrounding rubble, there was nowhere that either of them could run.

The audience, for the most part, had gathered that Diane's goal was not to survive the day, and yet, it was still shocking to see her stand to face it, arms spread in front, as if to embrace the boulder.

She didn't consider Carden's injury. He was hit by a smaller rock, sent sprawling on the groung. The rock was too fast for him to get up, too fast for Diane to shift forward, too fast for him to take a breath in.

Carden's left leg was smashed before he had any sort of chance to react. Brave Carden, who could do nothing but scream, who couldn't even scramble out of the way. That was when Diane reacted, jamming her arms forward, muscles straining, face red. The cold was forgotten.

She pushed with every ounce of leverage she could get, moving the rock, first an inch, then a litle farther.

"Climb... Come on, Carden!"

"I can't! I'm stuck!"

And then, another rapid change. Too fast, too quiet, almost too small to notice. A tiny, tiny, pop. So little, in the tempest raging around them, and beneath their feet.

But also, the biggest, most important event in the games.

Diane's wrist snapped beneath the weight.

Already teetering on it's edge, the rock fell. Trapping her lower arm, and Carden, underneath at least a ton of sheer weight.

Just like that, it was over. In as little time as it takes for the eye to blink, the wing to beat, the heart to love, the rain was gone. The rocks were still. And in that calm, a cannon broke the silence, and Diane screamed.

Because it was over.

And she had won.

* * *

Bell clicked the little red circle on the top of her remote, and the television blinked off.

Her eyes felt tight, and just a little bit wet. They always did, at the end. It always passed. The feeling of her stomach knotted up in her throat. Jennsen and Harold would be drying off their eyes, reporting on the winner, the victor, Diane Glenn.

The games were still lovely, of course. But a different kind of lovely. Not as happy, but still beautiful.

She dropped the remote, walking back to her bedroom, thinking only to go to sleep. It was too early to be awake, to have to think about what had happened. Bell smiled to herself. It _had_ been a good games. Lovely.

But the sort that would be even lovlier at a distance.

**-x**

**Oh, who am I kidding? This isn't the end,_ that _comes in two chapters.**

**Can anyone honestly say they were expecting that?**


	52. A Letter

**KILL SHEET**

**First. **Twyla Braughn  
"_Sherman_..?"  
Age: Fifteen  
Score: 1  
Death by massive cranial trauma. Kill goes to Kalika Hope.  
Kills: 0

_Twyla showed little skill in areas other than manipulation. She was no loss to the games._

**Second. **Wilder Smyk  
"_Screw this_."  
Age: Seventeen  
Score: 7  
Death by spinal cord fracture and paralysis. Kill goes to Bond Goodman.  
Kills: 0

_Wilder could have been a contender, if he had cared even a little. His easy death was a disappointment._

**Third. **Jenae Coniffor  
"_Let go of me_!"  
Age: Fourteen  
Score: 4  
Death by loss of blood. Kill goes to Kalika Hope.  
Kills: 0

_Jenae was so eager for the games, so confident in her ability, that it was almost sad to watch her die._

**Fourth.** Vance Malloy  
"_Ah,_ _what's the point_?"  
Age: Fourteen  
Score: 5  
Death by cranial fracture. Kill goes to Royce Emelin.  
Kills: 0

_Vance, despite his appearance's best efforts, blended in. His death was one among many; barely worth noting._

**Fifth. **Antiphon Marinus  
"_Where are you going? Come back_!"  
Score: 4  
Death by internal bleeding and organ disruption. Kill goes to Royce Emelin.  
Kills: 0

_Antiphon was such a pleasant young man. He was so upstaged, however, even by his twelve year old district partner, that he didn't have a chance._

**Sixth.** Glade Acacia  
"_Huh_?"  
Score: 2  
Death by cranial rupture. Kill goes to Soren Kailash.  
Kills: 0

_Glade believed in herself, a rare and fatal trait in one as unskilled as she._

**Seventh.** Dell Brandstone  
"_Just stop_!"  
Score: 7  
Death by disruption of the heart, lungs, and stomach. Kill goes to Paris Stetson.  
Kills: 0

_Dell was one of those promising tributes who just wasn't lucky enough. She never had a chance._

**Eighth. **Anona Semanalle  
"_I hope they're okay_…"  
Score: 6  
Death by massive spinal cord trauma. Kill goes to Maren Ericsson.  
Kills: 0

_Anona really could have been a competitor. Maybe she could have been a victor, too, if she was less distracted._

**Ninth.** Paris Stetson  
"_Nice one, Royce_…"  
Score: 9  
Death by brain failure and blood loss. Kill goes to Diane Glenn.  
Kills: 1

_Paris was like so many girls before her; a competitor, but only that. She never could have been a victor. She was simply too bland._

**Tenth. **Spencer Ferron  
"_Hey, wait! I can help y_-"  
Score: 3  
Death by blood loss and lung failure. Kill goes to Soren Kailash.  
Kills: 0

_Spencer was airheaded, but a crowd pleaser nonetheless. What an entertaining death._

**Eleventh.** Bond Goodman  
"_Uhh… G'night, guys_."  
Score: 9  
Death by hemorrhaging of the heart, lungs, and liver. Kill goes to himself.  
Kills: 2

_Bond was an unfortunate victim of the plague's early stages. He could have made a space for himself in the games, but failed miserably._

**Twelfth. **Sherman Whitmeyer  
"_I'm sorry, I didn't know_!"  
Score: 6  
Death by cranial trauma. Kill goes to Actassi Peixoto.  
Kills: 0

_Sherman was one of those tragic, lovelorn, utterly useless tributes. Thank goodness he was done away with._

**Thirteenth.** Royce Emelin  
"_You little bitch_!"  
Score: 10  
Death by loss of blood and heart failure. Kill goes to Esther Jaffe.  
Kills: 3

_Royce steadily gained popularity with the viewers, but still, he was much more interesting in death._

**Fourteenth.** Esther Jaffe  
"_I'm so sorry_…"  
Score: 7  
Death by loss of blood and lung disruption. Kill goes to Franz Desmond.  
Kills: 1

_Esther managed to make it surprisingly far, but her potential was never achieved. Shame, really._

**Fifteenth.** Lecia Smithfeld  
"_I think… He wants to give me a ride._"  
Score: 4  
Death by oxygen deprivation and organ trauma. Kill goes to Soren Kailash.  
Kills: 0

_Lecia was never expected to make it past the Cornucopia, and she barely did. Soren's intervention, however entertaining, didn't save her._

**Sixteenth. **Hypatia Leanodas  
"_Sorry_."  
Score: 5  
Death by multiple organ failure. Kill goes to Kalika Hope.  
Kills: 0

_Hypatia made it further than one so small had a right to. It was only by the intervention of her superiors that she even survived the Cornucopia._

**Seventeenth.** Franz Desmond  
"_Matilda_!"  
Score: 7  
Death by major internal trauma and loss of blood. Kill goes to Soren Kailash.  
Kills: 1

_Franz was an interesting character, but one who could not survive. It simply wouldn't have worked out._

**Eighteenth.** Soren Kailash  
"_Shit_."  
Score: 8  
Death by loss of blood and spinal cord disruption. Kill goes to Kalika Hope.  
Kills: 4

_Soren was perhaps the most entertaining personality in the game, and he never failed to amuse, whether with his sudden ally change or his violent death. He'll be missed._

**Nineteenth.** Maren Ericsson  
"_No 'fense, 'Tassi, but I always thought you'd be first_."  
Score: 9  
Death by blood loss, organ failure, and a punctured lung. Kill goes to Kalika Hope.  
Kills: 1

_Maren's rivalry with Soren was the high point of her own existence in the arena. Somehow, though, she had managed to spur Actassi to his own defense._

**Twentieth.** Kalika Hope  
"_Good. __I hate a coward_."  
Score: 11  
Death by cranial rupture and brain failure. Kill goes to Actassi Peixoto.  
Kills: 5

_Kalika was definitely the best equipped to win, but she failed. District Two would do well to study her mistakes, so often repeated in their tributes._

**Twenty-first.** Hetcher Smith  
"_Diane? Where are you_!"  
Score: 6  
Death by massive internal bleeding and suffocation. Credited to himself.  
Kills: 1

_Hetcher made it farther than many District Twelves, by virtue of his prior occupation and his alliance with a stronger competitor. He was no loss, but good entertainment._

**Twenty-second.** Actassi Peixoto  
"_Please don't_."  
Score: 7  
Death by blood poisoning and heart failure. Kill goes to Diane Glenn.  
Kills: 2

_Actassi made it further than anyone expected, including himself. Towards the end, there was little doubt that he could actually emerge as the victor. The Gamemakers had to direct their efforts to someone, though, and he was the unfortunate target._

**Twenty-third.** Carden Chaney  
"_I'm stuck_!"  
Score: 5  
Death by multiple organ failure, internal bleeding, and lung puncture. Kill goes to Diane Glenn.

_Carden made it further than any Twelve has a right to, relying on his wits and viewer appeal. The boy could stir sympathy in nearly anyone. If Diane's wrist hadn't snapped, he would no doubt be the victor._

**Twenty-fourth.** Diane Glenn  
"_No… No! Carden_!"  
Score: 9  
Victor of the sixty-sixth Hunger Games.  
Kills: 3

_Diane was an altogether different girl than anyone else in the game. She was not the only one who would have attempted to save Carden, nor was she the strongest competitor. Her score in training was definately undeserved, and a product of too much wine consumed by the Gamemakers, no doubt. I have seen the footage._

_Though I would not want it known, I cannot fathom how someone so singularly average at shooting, at manipulation, and in terms of intelligence ever came to win the Hunger Games._

_X_

_Seneca-_

_I thank you for another more or less successful games, and for your immediate reply to my request for your Kill Sheet. Not a boon to me, however, was your questionable crowning of Diane Glenn as victor. You did not consult me. You spoke to no one. You did not intervene on her behalf, but, worse, you did not intervene on the behalf of her competitors._

_Maybe it was good luck, on her part, or bad luck, for the others involved. Perhaps she possessed something that made it past the examinations. Either way, she should not have won. Why did this happen? Why did you disobey such a vital order, one that so directly influenced our control of the districts?_

_I do not want another unwarranted victory, Seneca. The future victors need to deserve it, and moreover, need to be the ones who _want _to win. An undue amount of suspicion surrounds every victor who did not desire to be so. Even the Chaney boy would have been a better choice._

_You would do well to improve your estimations in the future, my friend. Need I remind you of Abernathy's fiasco? These games can slip away from one so easily, if their eyes are clouded by emotion. Pay closer attention, next time. Did we not agree initially on the boy from District Four? It is your job to curb those Gamemaker lapdogs of yours, and you did not._

_This is your second slip, old friend. Do not make a third._

_Best of luck to you, Mr. Crane._

_Sincerely,_

_Quintillion Snow II_


	53. Epilogue

**Two Weeks Later- Final Interview**

Under the white-hot lights, onstage next to Caesar Flickerman, I sit stiffly on the plush green couch. Everything is wrong, and everything feels wrong, from my surgically perfect body to the cheers of the crowd, though the room is too darkened to make out the individual faces.

It's a lucky thing for my safety that Ivin and Kyler have so ingrained the phrase 'Do _not_ cry' into my mind, because the only figure I can make out besides that of my interviewer is that of President Snow, face bearing a distinctly displeased expression.

I gulp, and go back to trying to listen to Caesar. He is an honestly good person, and he will try to help me.

"So, congratulations, Diane! Thank you for those details into your strategy! Knowing what we do now, let's see the games. Are you ready?"

Somehow I manage to reply, keeping the pain out of my voice. "Yes."

What follows is three hours of the cruelest torment that any madman could have devised. I am treated to the video of my prone form being wheeled onto the train, the tearstained faces of my family, and brief clips of all the other reapings. Apart from my own, the most time is allotted to Kali, Actassi, Hetcher, and, most painfully, Carden.

I am once again reminded of his spirit, his bravery, and that he didn't have to die. His goal, saving his brother, was achieved. But such a cost. It's all I can do to keep the tears back, as we hear inspirational, stirring music, and I seem to emerge directly from my gurney to the chariots.

The look of orchestrated bravery on my face is so laughable, I am dying to cover my current face in embarrassment. What was I thinking? That I would _win_?

The training is a montage, mostly showing my capability with a bow, focusing for a few seconds on my meeting with Hetcher and Anona. _Anona_…

When I see the interviews, the regret is worse. Anona, my forgotten ally, seems so sure of herself, it is terrible to think of how she died. My approach to the interviews, however successful, is simply embarrassing to watch. But watch I do, if only because I can catch the occaisonal glimpse of Carden or Hetcher in the background, and pretend that they are still alive.

A gong sounds suddenly, and I see eight deaths in quick succession as the careers decimate the weaker tributes. A slow motion shot of my arrow, and Paris falls. Royce gets a second to tenderly close her eyes, and Hetcher and I disappear over the horizon.

On screen, I fall ill in the night. Hetcher tries to tend to me, but comes to the conclusion that only the careers have the necessary supplies. The alliance with the two twelves stitches the older girl's wound, and a career from District Five dies.

Hetcher confronts the careers, and loses his spear. We are turned away from the cave island by the little girl and the redheaded boy.

With me over his shoulder, still unconscious, he discovers our campsite, invaded by poisonous lizard-like mutts. I slowly wake up. The careers fix their boat, and the Four girl and the One boy go hunting.

I watch, paralyzed in my horror as the two Sixes stand up to the careers for their allies. It's even worse, knowing why Hypatia and Carden initially refused to ally. When I think there's nothing left to shock me, the boy stabs his dying district partner.

How could I have thought my own sufferings to be so large?

The Four girl can't find her paddle, and swims out with the boat dragging behind her. The Two boy allies mysteriously with a tiny girl, hiding in the Cornucopia. Hetcher and I row off to the cave island. We are trapped with the two remaining allies in the first cave-in.

Sitting, straight-backed on the small chair, I am barely able to keep my mind away from the memory of the second…

Maren makes it back. Two more careers, Kali and the boy I killed, go hunting. Him, reluctantly. Soren and Lecia escape the island. Kali begins to burrow into our cave, under cover of darkness.

I drowse inside the cave, leaned up on Hetcher's shoulder, blissfully unaware of the demon only a meter away. Carden mutters in his sleep, and Hypatia tosses restlessly. In the morning's pinkish light, Soren and Lecia are attacked by dolphins. Soren, unknowingly, kills Lecia by trying to pull her from the water.

Kali is inside the cave. In a single blow, she snaps most of Hypatia's ribs. The little girl is knocked backwards, and Hetcher is frozen with fear as I continue the battle. My height has me at a disadvantage, but the Four boy saves me by drawing Kali back out.

Hypatia dies. Our alliance parts ways.

Back at the career island, Kali snaps Soren's neck and cuts out his jaw. Hetcher and I barely escape the huge lake monster, which I now understand to be an alligator or immense proportions.

At the feast, I very nearly defeat Kali, though the true winner is Carden as he speeds off, relatively unscathed. The Fours rebel against Kali's insanity, and she kills the girl, Maren, as the boy looks on in terror. Kali is sorely wounded, as well, and he kills her. I understand, now, his fear when I called him murderer. He was as scared as I was, scared of his achingly sore conscience.

He had less reason to be than I did. His actions were justified.

The days following show a fine selection of torments for the boy; Hetcher and I are relatively uninteresting, besides a quick shot of my discovering the icy spring. Carden shelters in a tree for a night, driven up by muttation crabs. He barely escapes, thanks to a crossbow delivered by a sponsor. Actassi battles a twisted image of a woman who must be his mother.

My stomach churns. He emerges victorious, but much the worse for wear. That night, he shelters on the island of poisonous berries.

I am given a full shot to go hunting, meandering through the woods around the cave. As the cave begins to rumble, Hetcher's terrified expression is etched into the screen, and my mind.

"Diane? Diane! Where are you!" he cries.

Even though the girl onscreen runs to the fullest extent she can, he is gone by the time she reaches him. I remember the oaths I swore only too well, and I have to cover my face to sheild myself from my own stupidity. _I couldn't have known..._

Actassi crawls away from the island, trying feebly to reach mine. Carden has found his way to the Cornucopia, and immediately falls asleep.

When I kill Actassi, it takes a full five minutes, at least. They show every angle, dissected for my conveniance. I can see just how monsterous my grief for Hetcher made me, only a shadow of my former self. His eyes are huge, dialated with fear, and I tremble and turn away, though the Diane on the screen does not. Another cannon blasts.

Up there, Carden is still alive. If only for a few more minutes.

A slow shot plays of the mountains crumbling, and suddenly, a storm is raging, and I reach Carden on the Cornucopia. The rest is too painful to watch, and I feel my eyes begin to glaze over with pain. I don't see the screen any more, but no amount of trying can stop the sounds from reaching my ears.

"I-I can't move! Diane! I'm stuck!"

The final, resounding crash, and my scream as my wrist breaks and Carden, and my right arm, are crushed beneath the rock.

"Carden! No, _CARDEN_! CARDEN!"

I am left with the searing image of my horror-struck expression, until the onscreen Diane screams herself hoarse, and finally passes out. The screen goes dark, and the cheering starts again. Why are they cheering for me?

It's not like I won.

**-x**

**I love every one of you readers from the bottom of my keyboard, so I apologise now for every incontinuity, typo, and general 'error-of-stupidity' I have made since I began writing aCE. Just know that I honestly did make an effort to keep you guessing, sometimes totally changing plotlines in the process.**

**I think, to a lot of you, thanks are owed for keeping with me. So, here is my list of thanks, by username unless I know you personally.**

**I would like to thank, specifically:**

**-Mel, for being an awesome muse, brainstormer, online friend, and general ninja. I would have abandoned this story at least three times without you.**

**-Pen, for being the only person I know who can stay on this site longer than I do, and updating her stories so fast it puts me to shame.**

**-Vivid, for being ten times better at writing than I am, but still inexplicabley liking this story. And for letting me use a similar format for my kill sheet. Thanks!**

**-Ally, for being the first, hundredth, two hundredth, three hundredth, and four hundredth to review. Who knows if I would have gotten off the ground without you?**

**-Maren, for dying in one of the most epic ways I could think of. I'm sorry you never got to backhand Soren.**

**-Soren, for being great inspiration for one of the most fun characters to write.**

**-Esther, for unwittingly becoming a victim to my story when you were in my cabin last year. Forgive me..?**

**-All my pals at SDitEaBotC, for being generally epic in every way.**

**-It was all a PUZZLE, for sparing my life on several occaisons when I killed your favorite characters.**

**-Megan Warner, for being as awesome as any reader out there.**

**-Antimony Trifluoride, for having an impossible to spell username, and for all your in-depth comments and criticism.**

**-xXKillerxxCupcakesXx, for leaving great feedback even when you were disapponted in my choices.**

**-Artemis Randall, for having an even better grasp of THG than I could ever claim to, and for showing it in your comments.**

**-Stephanie Zorander, for having an EPIC effeffdawtnet last name, and sticking with me from the beginning.**

**-Fieyra, for leaving comments that made me smile, and using _the_ most creative emoticons.**

**-BlackRoseOpal, for being one of the people who was brave enough to point it out when I succumbed to cliche.**

**-Mockingjay1199, for being one of Paris' few fans, and arguably displaying the most loyalty to any character in the story.**

**-TigerToa, for being Carden's favorite cheerleader.**

**-FoalyWinsForever, for having a hilarious avatar that made me giggle more than once.**

**-Snowhiskers, for liking Soren even when he was being _reaaaally_ unlikable, and not giving up on me when I killed her favorite characters.**

**-Persephone's Flower, for commenting on most chapters, even though you started reading late in the game, and giving me a whole lot of pick-me-ups.**

**-Skellydoll, for reviewing, even once, and making me feel appropriately bad about Carden's death.**

**-Rosefire84, for being a sadly disappointed D3 fan, and seeing the good in my tributes.**

**-BananaPieThiefX, for not skewering me with her pitchfork, even though you had a perfectly good reason.**

**-Operation T.A.C.K.L.E.H.U.G, for doing everything possible to let me know what you thought, even back when you couldn't review.**

**-Scoobygal, for even continuing to read at all once you accidently saw a review about a particular character death.**

**-The Tester, for liking Actassi from the beginning, and partially convincing me to let him survive the bloodbath.**

**-Calypso3266, for keeping up with the story, and generally keeping me informed on what_ you _thought.**

**And, finally...**

**-Everyone who ever read this story, whether or not you reviewed, favorited, or alerted it. My thanks to you could fill up a book, let alone a little internet page like this. That's why I'm writing a sequal. Because the only way I could ever possibly repay everything you have given me, is to write more of what you enjoy. I mean, I started out as a hospital-bound teenage girl with too much time on her hands, and 100,000 words later? Wow. Thank you.**

**Expect the first chapter of the sequal some time in the next two or three weeks. It's the quarter quell, and believe me, this one's going to be epic.**

**I'm sorry, I'm a terrible rambler. But, know this: YOU are the reason I got this far. All of you, thank you, thank you, thank you. And now, finally, the words I've been simultaneously wishing for and dreading.**

-The End-


	54. Tragedy

**After reading Mockingjay, I decided that this needed another epilogue. So here it is. The games have now come full circle.**

**-x**

Obviously, it can't be too simple. Or too complicated, either, because I would prefer my death not to be seen as a deliberate act of rebellion. I can't let anyone else die because of me.

Anything too painful, I also rule out. As a general rule, no pointy objects. Bleeding would give me too long to think about things, and the goal is to stop the incessant memories, beating against the inside of my skull. Cutting myself would hurt, and I've been in pain long enough.

With this in mind, poison seems the way to go, but my consumption is strictly moderated since my last attempt. Like more than half the victors out there, I have been on suicide watch nearly since my victory. What a laughable concept! I had thought that nothing could be worse than being trapped in that arena. The last two years have at least given me something to feel grateful for. As terribly as Carden suffered, I saved him, in the end. I didn't let him win, whether by accident or by design.

Innocent, naïve little Carden. I didn't let them hurt him as much as they have hurt me, hurt my family. Death is a better place for all of them, for all of us, I suppose.

That is why I am going to kill myself.

More than anything in my old like, I miss little Rigel. I don't know how he died, only that, as much as I want to make myself pity whatever sycophant dispatched of him, all I feel is hatred. So much hatred. Like a new ocean, inside of me, in the pit of my stomach, trying to fight it's way out of my body. Like the memories. They all want to leave, all beat relentlessly at my frame, and I'm tired of resisting.

Two years. More like two millennia. That's how long it's been. Thankfully, they'll have Kyler to take over for me when I'm dead. Poor, deluded Kyler, who is too old to remember what winning was like, at least outwardly. He still helps his tributes, or would. I tried to send them poison. Everyone does, their first year.

There was Anitra, who died third, a happy fourteen who was completely unaware of her situation. She had two options: die then, or die later, as I have always had. Instead of picking one, she prayed for a third choice, and unconsciously chose the former, killed during the bloodbath.

I cried for Anitra, but it was worse to watch Sparrow, so confident that he would return to his ailing parents, gutted in his sleep on the third night. He was eighteen, the same age as me, then, and he made jokes of everything, of anything. He could almost, almost make me laugh.

He swore that he would do it in the arena, at least make me crack a smile, jokingly one night. And he certainly put on a show, darting through the slash-pine forest with a hunter's skill, setting the fire that killed two careers, dramatically impersonating other competitors for my, and, assumingly, the Capitol's, amusement. Then he died.

For Sparrow, I didn't cry. I was already drowning, and even an hour of tears couldn't make a difference.

Afterwards, I tried to kill myself for the first time, overdosing deliberately on my pain medication. I don't know who exactly saved me, but I doubt they knew what a disservice they did me.

I only made one more attempt, in the same way, but I was thwarted again, typically, by a Capitol medic making an unplanned visit to my house.

That is why I know that poisoning won't work, automatically ruling out the least painful option for death. And anything else that can be reversed. It severely limits my options, seeing as I have no plans to hurt myself any more.

No shooting, no stabbing, no drowning. What does that leave me with?

I heave a sigh, pushing myself to the edge of the velour recliner, and standing up.

"I'm going hunting," I announce to the security bugs I know are there, and I grab my bow for authenticity's sake.

I imagine that their tiny red lights flicker in recognition, and I walk out the door, taking care not to walk differently than usual, which is difficult because of how excited I am.

Finally, release. I will have my release. And the almost-empty house that I have not called anything resembling a home for the two years I have occupied it will be put to rest, as well.

The streets are coated in a fine, but well-tread dust of snow, and I gleefully stamp it down even further with my boots. I pull my hood up to cover my hair, which is really my only distinguishing feature.

Even the tiny amount of snow has the effect of a muffler. The crunching footsteps around me are dulled, and my own breathing does not echo on the hard shop surfaces, now fuzzy and white.

It's a fitting last day for me. Perfect for a tragedy.

The woods are even quieter, because few people would come out to hunt with snow still falling, covering the quarry's tracks and freezing the prey into their burrows. I look for the spot, the place where I have been planning to die. It's what used to be my favorite spot, because a gnarled tree-stump serves as a bench, overlooking hundreds of burrows.

I never took Rigel, or my family, or anyone from school, here. Though I'm sure they came. With only about five square miles of woods, there are no secrets.

Shielding my nose against the cold, I look for the signs. The two bent twigs that I twined together, marking that which I would surely need to find again. I think briefly about what I am about to do, but I find no objections. It's an idea that came to me, in one of my ruminations on the games. Something that I have seen work before.

I can't find it in my heart to go home, so I walk slowly forwards. Suddenly, I have the insane urge to do something spectacular, something camera worthy, before I die. But I realize quickly that killing myself will be enough to raise a few eyebrows on it's own, and I keep walking towards those bent twigs. Each step seems to take hours.

Painfully, I am aware of how beautiful everything looks, covered as it is with snow. It is a shame that Panem finds itself at the mercy of an entirely different Snow, and no more beautiful for it. You would think our suicide rate would be higher.

In the bark, I see faces I missed before. In a young cedar, Rigel tilts his head quizzically, and in an oak, Hetcher intertwines with Carden. Actassi's lidded stare is captured in a spruce, but at the tree, my tree, I see only rough bark.

I drink in the faces, looking for something familiar and comforting. Time slows down for a few seconds, then speeds up, a rabbit's pace, and I am walking much too fast for my liking. But I can't let myself stop any more.

Before I can let myself die, I close my eyes, and take a steadying breath. Try not to think about everything that has happened to me, pushing me towards this. I hear a song, in Carden's voice, catching only the repeated refrain.

_Chop, chop, chop._

I blink, and it disappears. I realize that I am standing, stock still, five feet from my destination. Then, snatches of music, from my father's gruff voice to my mother's tremulous soprano.

None of it will help me. I need to focus. So I hum my own song, the song I taught Rigel the first time he and his class were going into the woods, so he wouldn't be scared. I can't stop myself, and I find the humming evolves into my familiar, reedy voice.

_Turn up your head, look at the clouds  
__A velveteen shroud to the sky  
__Step lightly, walk softly, your feet brush the ground  
__The same one we share, you and I_

_When the sky falls away, when the ground meets the sun  
__Close your eyes, and forget how you've come_

_Turn up your head, face to the sun  
__A mockingjay slowly wings by  
__No matter, don't worry, just let the day come  
__The same one we share, you and I_

_When the sky falls away, when the ground meets that sun  
__Close your eyes, and just know, we are one  
__  
__Turn up your head, the light hits your face  
__A beauty that lets your heart fly  
__Just smile, just laugh, in this magical place  
__The same one we share, you and I_

_When the sky falls away, when the ground meets that sun  
__Close your eyes, and the wait will be done_

No magic happens. My voice is not a beautiful instrument, but knowing that the song is done gives me courage I didn't know I still had.

I open my eyes, and look, for the last time, at the sky. It's a breathtakingly lovely, uniform blue, with swirls of icy clouds floating higher than even a hovercraft could ever reach. Then, I blink, close my eyes, and purposefully trip.

I wait, pausing for a second, not opening my eyes. Why am I not dead? Has my noose trap been sprung, or removed?

Before I can finish thinking, my breathing tips the tiny trigger, and my neck snaps instantly. My trap works perfectly.

For the few milliseconds that I stay alive, I wonder where the cannon is, and why I have not yet heard it. Then, painlessly but quickly, my vision fades to black.

_Close your eyes, and the wait will be done._

**-x**

**All's well that ends in a tragedy. :(**


End file.
